


Enduring as Crystal

by Rizobact



Series: Crystal Ghosts [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: (but not really), (so sort of character death), AU, Fluff, Ghosts, Humor, M/M, Pining, Prowl x Jazz anniversary challenge 2016, Wheeljack's Inventions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-11 02:40:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 40,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7872835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rizobact/pseuds/Rizobact
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There were a lot of reasons Prowl visited the library. He never knew the most important one was waiting for him in the garden behind it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [anniversarychallenge16](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/anniversarychallenge16) collection. 



> A riff on "Rescued by Prince Charming" (using the number 9, which I'm doing by having 9 chapters as well as incorporating it as a story element). Not-quite-a-fairytale, this story's been in my head for months, and the challenge was the perfect way to get it out at last.
> 
> Beta'd by [dragonofdispair](http://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonofdispair/pseuds/dragonofdispair) \- thank you for not letting me abandon the bunny <3

Prowl could have sworn he knew every inch of the garden at the Grand Central Library of Praxus. He retreated to it often, to relax and meditate among the crystals. Something about it drew him, called to him. He found it helped him be more productive to pace slowly through the towering formations, watching the light play through the prisms and listening to the soft crystal whispering as he thought. Sometimes it almost sounded like it had a voice… 

Today he hadn’t been thinking on anything in particular, letting those whispers guide his steps. They’d led him to a narrow split in what he had  _ thought  _ was a solid crystal face at the back corner of the property. Deciding to investigate, he had carefully made his way through what turned out to be a massively overgrown hedge and now stood, stunned, at the edge of a small enclosed hollow in the opaque purple crystal, staring at a small building he had never known existed. 

“Well. This is unexpected.”

A musical tenor  — mech or femme, he couldn’t be sure  — echoed out from the delicate structure, perfectly capturing his thoughts. Prowl startled, slipping the last step out of the crack in the wall. He heard someone laugh as he fumbled to catch himself on a protruding crystal shelf, a warm, gentle sound that chimed against the surrounding walls. “Careful! That’s library property.”

“It is not damaged,” Prowl said quickly, his door wings twitching behind him at the admonishment. “At least, no more than it was when I found it.” He looked up at the building before him. More window than wall, the front had nearly a dozen tall panes of crystal even more colorful than any in the garden. Bracing those windows were hundreds of smaller facets of the same rainbow-hued crystal, fitted together flawlessly in glittering mosaics laced with fine white metal filigree. A trick of the light made the whole thing slide between translucent and opaque as Prowl shifted his gaze across it, searching for the speaker. He found no one.

“Where are you?”

“Right here.”

At first he still didn’t see anyone, but then  — there! Prowl spotted movement in one of the windows as the voice chuckled again. He focused his optics on the wavering shape. The distortion in the crystal made it difficult to make out much beyond a silhouette  — a non-Praxian silhouette.

“How’d you find this place?” the figure in the window asked, sounding curious rather than accusing. Prowl realized belatedly that its accent wasn’t Praxian either.

“I followed a crack in the crystal to see how far it went, not knowing there was anything inside,” Prowl replied. “How long has this been here?”

“Longer than the library’s been standing behind you, mech.” Now it sounded amused, as if something Prowl had said was funny. “Want to come in? The door’s open.”

Prowl hadn’t seen a door, but now as he followed the figure’s pointing finger along the building he did see an opening in the wall of color. He stepped up cautiously, peering across the interior. There were more rainbow-hued windows on the other side. They were just as impossible to see through clearly in the refracted light filtering down through the panes forming the vaulted ceiling overhead. Carved white columns of the same material that made up the building’s framework braced its arches at even intervals around the single room.

“Please come in,” the voice said again, more plaintively this time. “It’s been so long since I had anyone to talk to.”

Loneliness and sadness struck Prowl’s audials and resonated in his spark. Without further hesitation, he stepped across the threshold, striding into the open space and looking around for the source of the sound.

He moved too quickly; the colors swirled and spun, making him dizzy. Staggering, Prowl braced a hand against the nearest column to orient himself. He looked down to see everything around him reflected perfectly in the mirror-finish of the floor. It created the illusion of floating in an empty chamber suspended in color and light. Even though Prowl knew his feet were planted solidly on the ground, he felt as though he was standing on nothing at all.

“Sorry ‘bout that.” Prowl jerked his helm around toward the voice without thinking, sending his gyros spinning again as his systems struggled to balance him inside the kaleidoscope. “It doesn’t do that to me anymore.”

“Really?” Prowl gasped. Did that mean he just needed to get his bearings? He focused his gaze on the point on the floor where his feet met their reflection, hoping it would help him reestablish his equilibrium. That felt a little more stable. He continued to lean on the column for support though, before slowly starting to widen his gaze.

“What is this place?” Besides an incredible work of art. “There are no records of it in the library, not on the grounds maps or in the histories.”

“We-ell, technically speaking it ain’t a part of the library.” A small mech with a visor blue and sparkling as crystal moved slowly into Prowl’s peripheral vision in the reflection in the floor. The edges of the mech’s oddly shaped armor blurred into the rainbows around him, color bleeding across white plating so that parts of him vanished into the architecture. The silver on his arms and legs didn’t disappear as effectively, but was still harder to make out than the dark, solid black shapes of his torso, hands, and helm. He waved up at Prowl with a grin. “There’s a reason no one knows it’s here. Wanna hear the story? It’s a good one.”

“I… yes,” Prowl said, confused. He tried to follow the mech’s reflection past the floor to get a better look at him, but somehow lost him at the transition. When he looked down again, he was gone. “Please.”

“All right then,” the mech said from somewhere behind him. Prowl didn’t turn his helm this time, but his door wings fluttered slightly, trying to pinpoint him. The sensor panels couldn’t detect anyone else there. What was going on?

“A long, long time ago, back before the unification of the territories, this land belonged to the most powerful noble family in all of Praxus,” the mech began. His reflection now appeared in one of the eastern windows. “They were real strict,  _ big _ into tradition. Everything had to be done  _ just so, _ and no one questioned the head of the house. Didn’t matter who you were  — from the lowest servant to the heir himself. If the elder decreed something, his was the final word.”

Despite the warmth of color around him, Prowl felt a sudden chill creeping through his lines. “This is not a happy story, is it.” It wasn’t a question.

“Did I say it was?  _ Good  _ and  _ happy _ ain’t the same thing, mech.” The visored figure in the window wavered and vanished again. Prowl couldn’t triangulate his new position as his voice seemed to come from all around. “ _ Good  _ is subjective.  _ Good  _ is what the elder thought he knew best, and to the Pit with whether or not it made anyone  _ happy.” _ The words were bitter and resigned, but there were embers of an old anger lingering just beneath the surface. Prowl shivered as the story continued.

“At the height of the family’s influence and power, the estate was unrivaled anywhere in the city for its richness and splendor. The members of the house were considered the most upstanding, most righteous, most  _ pure  _ of all Praxians.” The emphasis grated against the crystal, sending discordant echoes full of disgust and contempt pinging around the room. “Egocentric, narcissistic xenophobes, the lot of ‘em! No place for foreign builds among  _ that  _ crowd! Except as servants, where no one heard or saw you.”

Prowl was starting to get used to the effect of the chamber. Helm no longer spinning, he stepped away from the column he’d been leaning against and turned slowly. He caught elusive glimpses of the strange mech in the windows as he scanned his surroundings. “You speak as though you were there,” he observed flatly. That was impossible. Praxus hadn’t been an independent city state for thousands of years. Its nobility was relegated to the archives of history, remembered only by those who still thought claiming descent from the old lines would bring them some sort of prestige. An entirely academic exercise, as far as Prowl was concerned. Noble lineage had no bearing on anyone’s function in modern Praxus.

“You sound like you don’t believe me,” the mech said knowingly from the reflection of one of the upper windows in the floor. Impossibly he looked to be sitting on the vertical filigree frame between two large panes of variegated crystal. 

Prowl had the suspicion that if he looked up he wouldn’t be there anymore. “And if I do not?” he asked, addressing the reflection. Some of the colors were beginning to deepen into shadows, stretching and lengthening around the room. Prowl had to fight the urge to escape. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to if he tried. Was any of this real? Had he fallen and hit his helm climbing through the crystal? Was he lying on the ground dreaming?

The blue visor watching him dimmed somewhat. “Doesn’t matter what you believe.” The mech jumped down from the window, falling upwards towards the floor and disappearing behind a column just before reaching it. His image walked out around the column a moment later, pacing along one of the windows before turning to face Prowl. Once again, Prowl could detect nothing behind him to cast that reflection. “You want the rest of the story or not?”

“I do,” Prowl answered honestly. Real or imagined, he was curious. “What does any of that have to do with the fact that this building is not part of the library, and that no one knows of its existence?”

“The land was given to the library. The building wasn’t,” the mech said enigmatically. “It used to be at the center of a grand crystal garden, the focal point of a symphony of sculptured pinks and reds, blues and greens, lavenders and ochres. All the most fantastic shapes you can imagine! It was a status symbol, a private chapel built as a demonstration of wealth and false piety with no intention of anyone ever actually using it.”

The mech turned to gaze out the window; the thick walls of the hedge beyond were partly visible through the coruscating crystal glass. “That’s what’s left of the garden, overgrown and run wild ‘cept for where they prune it back to keep it from encroaching on the library. What it used to look like… Oh, if only you could’ve seen it! It was beautiful, every bit as beautiful as this chapel. Two parts of one masterpiece.”

He looked back at Prowl, the glow of his visor brightening and the colors in the room brightened along with it. “Do you know anything about cultivating crystal?” He seemed to expect a no, and Prowl shook his helm obligingly. Truthfully he knew very little, though he did know some. “You have to seed the mineral beds, monitor the humidity, clean out undesirable inclusions, train and shape the formations, polish the faces without injuring ‘em…” he trailed off, though Prowl knew there was plenty more he left unsaid. “Point is it’s hard, time consuming manual labor. Who do you think gets saddled with that job on a noble estate?”

“I would assume one of the servants,” Prowl hazarded a guess. “Or several, if the task was too large for a single mech to accomplish unaided.”

“Got it in one,” the mech smiled, tapping his helm smartly next to one of the strange short audial protrusions sticking out on either side. “There were two shifts assigned to looking after the crystal, a day shift and a night shift. You gotta have someone at night to make sure it doesn’t get cold enough to damage the more delicate species, to finish whatever the day shift didn’t get to. And,” he said fondly, “to sing with them.”

“Sing with them?” Prowl repeated, not sure he’d heard right. “What purpose does that serve?”

“Listen.” 

The mech slipped away again, vanishing as his clear, vibrant tenor began humming through the room. It rang in the largest window panes first, each one singing back a different note. The pitch started low and resonant; Prowl could hear it in his audials and feel it in his door wings. The twin panels on his back twitched reflexively, settling into a wider position to better pick up the subharmonics as the music built around him.

Around each tier of windows, arcing up overhead and cascading down over him, the sound picked up new notes from every facet, turning the chapel into a choir. Every color, every size, every shape sang back with its own unique voice, filling the chamber with liquid sound. Prowl knew the strange, mysterious mech had to be orchestrating it all, carefully controlling the responses with the strength and direction of his voice, but it quickly reached the point that he couldn’t follow the complexity even with his advanced sensory suite and superior processors. Unable to think his way through it, all Prowl could do was experience it.

It felt like being consumed.

Sound and music poured through him like light and color and he became transparent; his awareness evaporated as the music penetrated him. He could feel his frame buzzing with the melody, his plating vibrating as it sang too… until at last, it was too much. Crying out, Prowl’s voice joined the crystal chorus as it swelled and broke like the dawn, shattering in its intensity without breaking a single thing.

It was an eternity before the last audible note faded, leaving the air humming with crystal resonance that tingled along Prowl’s door wings. He felt shaken,  _ was  _ shaking. At last he realized he was somehow still standing, trembling, at the center of the chapel.

“It doesn’t serve any purpose,” the maestro said softly, at last appearing properly before Prowl’s optics in the still-charged air. He looked almost solid, as if Prowl could reach out and have his fingers brush against something real. His feet, however, didn’t quite touch the ground. “It’s just beautiful.”

“Beautiful is… an inadequate description,” Prowl whispered, hardly daring to move. “How…?”

“Practice. Lots and lots of practice. I’ve had plenty of time with nothing else to do, after all.” The mech smiled sadly. “I used to sing when I took care of the crystals at night. Wasn’t part of my job, but it made me happy. And not just me  —  I didn’t know it at first, but the young lord of the house actually  _ did  _ use the chapel. Not to pray, but to think. Then he started coming to hear me sing. He said that it… that I… made him happy too.”

A pause let the chill and shadows back in. “Of course, the elder wasn’t very happy when he found out. It’s not good to consort with a worthless Polyhexian grounds servant. In the elder’s optics I’d contaminated and corrupted his heir, ruining him, his reputation, and the reputation of the house forever.”

_ If the elder decreed something, his was the final word, _ Prowl remembered. “But you had done nothing of the sort.”

“Of course not!” The response was immediate, indignant. The mech’s form wavered slightly in the air, becoming somehow less solid. “All we did was talk! We knew there was no bridging the gap between our stations, no matter how we felt about each other. I wasn’t gonna destroy his future like that, and he didn’t want to see me get sacked. Or worse.” He laughed, a dry, brittle sound compared to its earlier richness. “It got so we knew we had to stop seeing each other. We agreed to meet here one last time to say goodbye… and then worse happened.”

Prowl felt his spark clench in his chest. “They caught you,” he said quietly.

“They did. The guards surrounded the chapel and rushed us, forcing us apart. The elder watched as they held me down and dragged him away and I never saw him again.” The raw emotion in the mech’s voice was stark and painful. “I can only hope they didn’t kill him in favor of the next in line, but I wouldn’t put it past them. Then, with a lengthy lecture about the depths of my sin and depravity, I,” the mech gestured grandly around them, “was imprisoned here. They struck every hint of the chapel’s existence from the records and let the garden grow up around it so no one would ever find it. That’s why when the house finally fell and the land got split up, the chapel wasn’t part of the deal with the library. And neither was I.”

“But…” Prowl stared in disbelief. “If you were imprisoned here that long ago, that would mean that you…”

“Died? Yeah.” As if to emphasize the point he faded further, his body now undeniably transparent. “The crystal’s too hard to break and the metalwork too strong to pry apart for someone my size without tools, and they made sure the place and my subspace were both empty before they removed the door. There was no way out other than slowly starving into stasis and then slippin’ quietly offline.”

He said it so matter-of-factly that it took Prowl a moment to react. “That must have been horrible,” he finally said, then winced at how pathetic it sounded. “I mean–”

“It’s okay. I know what you mean,” the mech said soothingly. “Anyway, you’ll notice I didn’t let dying kill me.”

Prowl shook his helm, trying to make sense of that. “I do not understand. If what you have said is true, how are you are still here? Who are you?”

The mech’s face lit up with a brilliant smile. “I’m Jazz,” he replied. “Tender of crystal and amateur musician. Don’t bother trying to find any record of me. None exists any more than you’ll find on this place. They erased us both a long time ago. All that’s left,” he chuckled, “are the ghosts!”

“So then,  _ you  _ are a ghost.” Prowl extrapolated, feeling the twinges of a processor ache coming on. Surprised only that it hadn’t started sooner, he brought a hand up to cover his optics. “How can I be talking to a ghost?” Had he hit his helm harder than he’d thought, or inadvertently stepped through some sort of portal? A tendril of panic curled its way into his spark and his hand dropped back down as he looked back at Jazz. “Wait. If they removed the door, how did I get in? How do I get back out?”

“Hey, calm down! One question at a time!” Jazz said, making shushing motions with his hands. “You get out the same way you got in. They might’ve removed the door, but I removed a window. See? It’s hard to spot unless you’re looking for it, but that frame there’s empty.”

Following Jazz’s finger, Prowl looked behind him. Just as he’d said, one of the large ground level windows was missing, the transition from the mirrored floor to the outside uninterrupted. With a sigh of relief Prowl relaxed, the sudden fear subsiding. “How were you able to do that?” he asked, curiosity once again coming to the fore. “You said the crystal was too hard to break.”

“When I was alive it was,” Jazz admitted. “Couldn’t do it with my hands. I had to learn how to sing the crystal well enough to crack just the one piece without bringing the whole place down  —  Primus only knows what it woulda done to me if I had. Only took a hundred years or so.” He shrugged, bleaching further in the light as the air grew more and more still. “Would’ve taken longer if I hadn’t been so familiar with the crystal. It’s all from the garden originally.”

“It does not look like the same crystal,” Prowl objected.

“Not the stuff out there now, no. The garden used to be a lot bigger and had a lot more variety in it. The chapel’s made from one that isn’t there anymore, but you can still see all the original species in the sigils on the columns.”

Intrigued, Prowl walked over to the nearest column and examined it. Sure enough, there was a small, decorative sigil he hadn’t noticed before containing elements made of several different types of crystal. Though there was none of the same rainbow crystal making up the chapel, Prowl recognized the purple crystal of the hedge outside and several others from the garden as well. The shapes had been laid out in the form of stylized glyphs spelling out a name beneath a small relief portrait of a mech. 

Presumably the name belonged to the mech depicted. Prowl examined a few more of the columns, finding that each bore a different name. They seemed vaguely familiar somehow…  “Who were they?” he asked, trying to place them in his memory.

“Former elders. Ah, that one’s kinda, erm…” Jazz’s sentence trailed off as Prowl came to the next column. Its sigil was cracked and broken, the glyphs unreadable. The relief had popped loose and fallen at some point in the past, shattering and disintegrating over time so that only the faintest traces of it remained as dust at the base of the column.

“…I think I can guess,” Prowl said mildly. “He was not a former elder though, was he? He was the current head of the house.”

“Yeah, but they figured putting it in when they built it would save them the trouble of having to add him when he kicked it.” Jazz made his way over to one of the other columns, form flickering fitfully between each step. “I would have hated them for makin’ me look at his ugly mug till I was able to shatter it, except for this.”

Prowl left the broken sigil and joined Jazz, drawing up short when he read the inscribed name.  _ That _ one he knew, and knew well.

“He was the heir, the next in line to succeed the house, so they put him here too,” Jazz said quietly. He brought his hand up to the relief, fingers trembling with effort as he reached for it. Then, suddenly, he was gone.

“Jazz!” Prowl whirled, his exclamation the only sound in the silent room.

“Still here,” he heard a second later. Prowl looked down and saw Jazz standing beside him in the reflection in the floor, a wavering smile on his face. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

Slowly Prowl extended his arm, reaching out to his side. His hand overlapped with Jazz’s where he looked in the mirror, but there was no one there to touch.

“Aw, don’t make that face.” Jazz ‘patted’ Prowl’s hand and then walked back to the windows, floating up from the floor to ‘sit’ once again on a band of filigree facing Prowl. “I ain’t going anywhere, trust me. It’s silly, I know it is, but… when they were dragging him away, he said he’d escape. He promised he’d come back for me. So I stayed.” He was smiling, but it was a smile filled with sadness. “I could’ve moved on but I stayed for him. I missed my chance.”

“Have you… tried? Recently, I mean, to… move on?” Prowl asked hesitantly. He didn’t want to upset Jazz, but was unsure of what to say. His processor was spinning.

“I can’t.” Jazz’s shoulders slumped tiredly. “I’m trapped, bound to the crystal. I can’t even leave the chapel now that the garden doesn’t have any of this variety left,” he said, indicating the windows around them. “I used to be able to go out, to visit the other pieces of it after I broke the window. But then they all died out. I’ve just been kinda sleeping since then… It’s a pretty miserable way to live, you know.”

Prowl didn’t point out that it was in fact _no_ way to live, given that Jazz claimed to be dead — a claim which was crazily starting to sound plausible. He desperately wanted to get back to the library. There were so many things he needed to look up!

“I walk in the garden often,” Prowl offered slowly, not wanting to say too much and get Jazz’s hopes up. “I could come and visit you again, if you want.”

“You would do that? Really?!” As close as they were standing, Prowl should have been able to feel Jazz’s excitement in his EM field. He couldn’t.

“Yes,” he said. “I promise.”

_ Now _ Prowl felt something, though it was more like crystal resonance than a true EM pulse. It felt like it came from the chapel itself. “I’ll be waiting,” Jazz said solemnly. “You have to go now though, don’t you?”

“I do. But I will return.” Prowl knew the words were true as he said them; he would come back. Whatever his research turned up, whether he found anything or not, he would be back at least one more time. If only to prove whether or not he’d been dreaming… 

Prowl looked over his shoulder one last time after stepping through the missing window. Jazz stood in the pane beside it, hands pressing against the crystal. It looked like he was trying to break free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapel was inspired by [this](http://rizobact.tumblr.com/post/138259776061/autobot-stormshadow-farbenfrei) gorgeous piece of architecture, the Palacio de Cristal in Madrid, Spain.


	2. Chapter 2

Normally Prowl left the library when it began to get dark. He would have preferred to stay until closing, but he had responsibilities outside his studies that prevented it. Some were more onerous than others, but regardless of how he felt about them, he had never failed to remember and honor his obligations.

Until now. After his encounter with the strange apparition claiming to be a ghost in the hidden chapel behind the library, all thoughts of the meeting he was supposed to have with his cousin that evening completely fled his processor. He had questions that needed answers, beginning with the names he’d seen on the plaques  — particularly the one Jazz said had been his friend and the heir to the wealthiest and most influential noble family in old Praxus:  _ Prowl. _

How? How could his name have been in the chapel? Historically there were two types of names: those that anyone was allowed to take, and those only permitted to members of the nobility, who never took the former. While the distinction was no longer legally enforced, the tradition was strong enough that it was extremely rare for mechs nowadays to use any of the old noble designations. The only place they appeared anymore was in academics; something Prowl, as a student of law, was quite familiar with. He had cursed having to remember which Aegis was responsible for which inter-city treaty, which Paradrome had advocated for which immigration and naturalization statute… but he’d never encountered his  _ own  _ name before.

More importantly, his brother had never seen it before either. Barricade was as fixated with the historical nobility of Praxus as Prowl was indifferent to it. He devoted a considerable amount of time and money to his hobby, amassing one of the largest private collections of antiquities in the city and conducting extensive research on sparklines. Barricade had traced their family back to multiple noble houses, some quite famous, and touted the connections as proof of their (his) importance. He would  _ know  _ if there was a precedent for Prowl being anything other than a common name.

Prowl was sure his brother’s research was where he’d seen the other names on the columns before, in fact. The trouble was that, despite having seen the family trees several times, Prowl didn’t actually remember them very well. The only time line of descent mattered to him as a prospective lawyer was when a case involved inheritance disputes, and those usually only required going back a single generation or two. Still, he knew how to approach the subject. All he needed to do was cross-reference the names from the columns with prominent noble houses.

He headed past his usual section and went straight for the upper level of the library. He all but ran up the staircase, striding quickly to a data terminal to enter his query. A moment later the search yielded one conclusive hit  — House Rhadamanthys.

Prowl stared blankly at the readout. He recognized that house, of course he did. Jazz hadn’t been exaggerating about the family’s importance. Many prominent historical figures, most notably several judges, had been scions of House Rhadamanthys. Their most lasting contributions to modern society were from the late middle period of Praxus’ independent history. Prowl’s instructors had spent a great deal of time on them.

There was another reason it was familiar though. While ultimately not surviving to see the unification of the cities and decline of the nobility, having succumbed to financial hardships and being absorbed into another house shortly before those events had occurred, it was one of the families Barricade had linked them to. His brother had told him he should be proud of that lineage, since Prowl hoped to become a judge himself one day.

So he  _ was  _ related, however distantly, to that other Prowl. The one who didn’t come up when he ran a search on his name.

_ I can only hope they didn’t kill him in favor of the next in line, but I wouldn’t put it past them. _

Jazz’s words echoed in his processor, and Prowl suspected he might have been right. If the family had been so scandalized by what had happened that they locked Jazz in the chapel, left the crystal to grow over it, and eliminated any mentions of them from history  — additional queries on both came up blank — then they certainly would have done something equally drastic with a dispossessed heir. Perhaps they had even stricken the name Prowl from the noble caste of names… 

Part of Prowl wanted to stop at the lack of records and let that be the end of it, to write the whole thing off as insane and move on. But he couldn’t. Negative search results just meant there were no records in the library’s computer system. It didn’t mean there might not be clues in the source files themselves, if he pulled and examined them himself.

It would be a lot of work… But as incredible as it all seemed now that he was no longer standing in the rainbow crystal light, Prowl could not forget the hope in Jazz’s voice when he’d promised to see him again  — or how his song had felt in his spark.

Abandoning the terminal, Prowl retreated into the stacks. He was no stranger to revised records. One of the things he was studying was how to spot altered or falsified documents presented as evidence in court. Identifying a fake didn’t always guarantee that the original could be recovered, of course, but sometimes the way in which changes were made was still informative. In this case, it would at least prove there had been something to hide, even if it didn’t prove what that something was.

Prowl became so engrossed in his new project, half-hidden behind a steadily growing mountain of datapads and scattered notes, that he didn’t even look up at the mech approaching his table. It was only when a blue hand came down in front of him, covering the paragraph he was reading, that he raised his helm to meet his cousin’s yellow chevron and concerned optics.

“Smokescreen!” His door wings drew back in embarrassment. “I am terribly sorry, I did not mean to be here so late. Something… something came up.”

“I see that,” Smokescreen said wryly, looking over the piles Prowl had accumulated. He sounded more worried than annoyed, which his next words confirmed. “I didn’t know what to think when you didn’t show up and didn’t answer any of my calls. I figured maybe you were just still here with your comm. off so I came looking. Are you alright?”

Prowl checked and saw that he had indeed left his comm. on silent. A quick scan of the log showed several missed calls from Smokescreen. “I apologize,” he said, belatedly switching it back on. “It will not happen again.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Smokescreen ignored the apology with a shrewd look, “and I’m a little more worried about you right now than preparing for the audit. Are. You. Alright?”

“Yes,” Prowl insisted, though he noticed his cousin giving his work station a critical once-over as well.

“Reeeally?” Smokescreen’s tone shifted from concerned to intrigued. “I don’t know. Looking at this, I’m tempted to ask if you’ve blown a fuse. I thought you hated all this stuff.”

“What stuff?” Prowl asked, stalling even though he knew it wouldn’t work.

“Family history stuff,” Smokescreen clarified with a look that clearly said he knew what Prowl was trying to do and was having none of it. “And don’t try telling me this is about some obscure legal precedent. Your brother’s study is full of this stuff  — the same stuff I’ve heard you say over and over is a complete waste of time.”

“Fine. I will not tell you it was research on an obscure legal precedent,” Prowl said blandly, standing and picking up several datapads to take back to the shelf behind him.

“Well aren’t you cooperative?” Smokescreen huffed a small amused laugh. “Come on, Prowl. You blew me off for this so ‘fess up. What’s all this about? And why not just ask your brother for help? It’s his favorite subject.”

“I am aware,” Prowl replied, shooting Smokescreen a glare over his shoulder before replacing the datapads where they belonged, carefully attentive to their catalogued positions. “I have my reasons for not wanting to involve him, but I am not inclined to explain them to you.”

“Oh, really? Not inclined to explain… right now? Right here?” Smokescreen pressed. “Work with me. You have to give me something.” He grinned, a blend of mischievousness and deviousness in his expression. “You wouldn’t want me mentioning this to someone if it’s such a big secret, would you?”

Black and white door wings twitched as Prowl’s hand froze in midair. With Smokescreen, the threat wasn’t necessarily an empty one. He had no one to blame but himself. If he had been paying better attention and left when he should have, this whole conversation could have been avoided. Cursing internally, Prowl turned to face his overly-curious cousin.

“Please do not do that,” he acquiesced. “Will you allow me to finish here so we can discuss it somewhere else?”

“Absolutely!” Smokescreen beamed. “I’ll even help.”

It wasn’t long before the desk was clear with both of them working together, though Prowl had to stop Smokescreen from putting some of the materials back in the wrong places a couple of times. 

When the last datapad was where it belonged, Smokescreen bowed toward the staircase. “After you,” he said, his optics glittering eagerly. “I can’t wait to hear the story behind this.”

***

They wound up going to Smokescreen’s office, which was where Prowl was supposed to have met him in the first place. It wasn’t far from the library, but it was a long enough drive to give Prowl a chance to think about what he was going to say.

There was no way to tell Smokescreen about Jazz without sounding like he’d lost his mind. Prowl was immensely glad he hadn’t started pulling any material on the supernatural yet and that all his cousin had seen him looking at were histories and biographies. He hadn’t gotten that far after hitting an early roadblock in his plan to examine records from around the time the chapel was built. 

The names from the chapel all dated to the early classical period, some very near the house’s founding. Prowl wondered if on one of the columns he hadn’t checked there might not be the name of the very first head of the house. The problem was that narrowing his search to the early classical period still left him with a broad timeframe and the crucial sigil had been unreadable. He didn’t know which head of house he should be looking up. Smokescreen had found him in the midst of compiling a timeline to try to identify him by process of elimination  — the next head of house after the last name he had most likely being the one he needed.

Fortunately all of that could be explained with a simple redacted version of the truth. Smokescreen was a very observant mech, adept at reading others and knowing when they were keeping secrets. He would know an outright falsehood before Prowl even finished a single sentence.

Hopefully he wouldn’t spot a lie of omission… or two.

“Alright,” Smokescreen said, not bothering with the chair behind his desk and settling onto one of the couches in front of it. Prowl took the couch opposite and waited for him to continue. “What was so interesting that you skipped out on helping me slog through preparing for my latest audit to dig into family history you don’t even care about?”

“I will still help you with the audit,” Prowl began, only for Smokescreen to wave him off.

“I know you will,” he said confidently. “I’m not worried about it. There’s still plenty of time to get things ready before then. We can take care of it later. What I want to know  _ now _ has nothing to do with audits.” He edged forward on the couch. “So come on! Spill! It’s not polite to keep dodging after you promised you’d tell me.”

“Dodging was not my intent,” Prowl said, his tone apologetic. “I am simply finding it difficult to know where to begin.”

“How about beginning with what you were looking for in all those dusty old records?” Smokescreen suggested. “Then we can get into why you want to hide it from your brother when he’s practically made a second career of the subject and could probably save you a lot of time.”

“If time were my primary concern I  _ would  _ ask him,” Prowl conceded, “but there are other factors to consider.” He straightened in his seat and began summarizing. “Earlier this afternoon I discovered a small building behind the library, hidden in the crystal garden. There was no record of it anywhere, not on the grounds maps or in the system. My best guess is that it belonged to the family that once owned the garden, but that it was forgotten by the time the land was deeded to the library.” Not much of a guess since Jazz had told him that was what had happened, but Prowl could hardly reveal him as his source if he intended to maintain any measure of credibility.

“There were several plaques inside, on a series of columns,” he continued, “each bearing a designation and a portrait. Some of them seemed familiar, but I was unsure of who they were until I returned to the library proper to look them up.”

“Aaand?” Smokescreen asked, waving his hand leadingly when Prowl didn’t keep going right away.

Prowl rolled his optics at his cousin’s impatience. “ _ And, _ ” he said, “I found that they were all nobles: early heads of House Rhadamanthys.”

Smokescreen let out a low whistle. “Wow! Now that’s something.” He blinked slowly as he processed the information. “So, that’s what you were doing with all that stuff? Trying to identify the names on the plaques?”

“Yes,” Prowl confirmed. “That, and trying to identify which of them might have been responsible for the construction of the building and which responsible for erasing any traces of it. If they were not one and the same.”

“That’s incredible, Prowl,” Smokescreen said, sounding truly impressed. “How did no one ever find it before?”

“The crystal of the garden hides it from casual observation and, as I told you, there are no records of its existence. There was no way for anyone to know to go looking for it.” Prowl himself had not precisely gone looking for it himself.

“Guess your habit of wandering really paid off then,” was Smokescreen’s take on it, and Prowl didn’t correct him. “But why do all that research yourself? Why not just ask someone about it? If not your brother, at least one of the librarians  — they have access to some things that aren’t available to the general public. Maybe there’s a reference to this building there.”

That thought had occurred to Prowl, though he didn’t think it was likely. Wouldn’t one of the librarians have found the chapel before, if they’d seen mention of it? Regardless, his plan was to deal with classified records when and only if he had to after exhausting every option that could be pursued independently. It wasn’t just Barricade he didn’t want to involve.

“You don’t want to tell them about it if they don’t already know it’s there,” Smokescreen guessed when Prowl didn’t answer, seemingly sensing his resolution. “Why? It’s not like you to bury something like this.”

“You did hear me say which house it likely belonged to, yes?” Prowl hadn’t thought he needed to explain why that was significant, but perhaps he did.

“I heard you,” Smokescreen said slowly, “but I’m not seeing why that equals ‘keep it a secret from everyone’ in your processor. If it’s a genuine classical era piece, a true early Rhadamanthian relic, then that makes it a cultural artifact. I’m surprised you haven’t already put in a call in to the museum.” Prowl might not put much stock in personal ancestry, but he was a firm proponent of cultural heritage; a fact his cousin knew well and one his brother sorely lamented. “Seriously, what’s the hangup?”

Prowl forced himself not to fidget. The real reason he didn’t want anyone involved was, of course, Jazz. He didn’t know enough about ghosts to know what disturbing to the chapel might do to him  — Jazz had even said something about being worried what would happen if it were destroyed himself  — and if the library learned of its existence they would bring in experts to begin restoring it. They might even eventually relocate it if it was decided that it should go to the cultural center, rather than remaining with the library. All of which would make it impossible for Prowl to visit Jazz again, and none of which he could tell Smokescreen.

Still, there was one thing that would have had Prowl hesitant to announce his discovery right away even without the complication of Jazz.

“I realize this might seem overly cautious,” he said carefully, holding up a hand to forestall any interruptions. “I am aware that this is a remote possibility only. Nevertheless, I do not want to risk Barricade arguing that, instead of remaining the property of the library or reverting to public ownership, the building belongs to him by virtue of our family connection.”

Smokescreen looked at Prowl skeptically, but didn’t try to say anything yet.

“He would involve himself as soon as he heard about it.” That basically went without saying, but it led into Prowl’s next point. “If I were to inform either the library or the cultural center, they would begin doing exactly what I am doing: checking the names on the plaques, attempting to date the building, validating its authenticity. But they would  _ announce  _ the project, and that would alert my brother.”

Prowl leaned forward, every line in his frame open and earnest. “I do not intend to keep it a secret forever. I simply want to do the preliminary research myself to speed their process, and prevent Barricade from being the one to investigate the transaction giving the garden to the library first. I do not want to give him the chance to make a case that they do not have legal ownership and that the building rightfully belongs to the family  — or, this case, its descendents.”

Farfetched as the notion sounded, Prowl was basing it on an actual precedent. Barricade had done precisely that on a much smaller scale recently, ‘proving’ that he was the rightful legal owner of a piece he had been coveting to force the mech it had belonged to to surrender it. He had gloated over his victory for months, and that particular artifact was of little monetary value. For the chapel, worth a small fortune for the crystal alone and invaluable as a status symbol? He would pull in every resource he had to lay claim to it.

He might not be successful, of course, but that was immaterial. He would  _ try. _ It was a risk Prowl wasn’t willing to take.

“You’re right,” Smokescreen said a moment later. “That sounds like a bit of a leap to me, especially since even if he did try something like that he’d have to prove that  _ he  _ was the descendant it should go to. Other claimants would come forward… which would only make an even bigger mess of things,” he finished, the realization sinking in. A highly publicized court case like that could go on for centuries and the more mechs (and their lawyers) who got involved, the more likely it was one of them would succeed in being granted private ownership  — and Smokescreen knew that Prowl preferred to err on the side of caution rather than gamble on an outcome.

“Are you sure you have the time to dedicate to this?” Smokescreen asked seriously.

“As long as no one else learns of my project, I have all the time I need,” Prowl pointed out with a conspiratorial smile. “Will you aid me by not speaking of this to anyone?”

“Keep my mouth shut so your brother doesn’t get a chance at one more thing to rub in our faces? So you can take on even more pro bono work while you’re supposed to be studying for your exams? So you can do something for that library that’s almost like your second home?” Smokescreen laughed. “Alright, fine. I won’t say anything.”

“To anyone?”

“To anyone.”

“Thank you,” Prowl said gratefully. “I appreciate it.”

“Yeah, well, you wouldn’t have told me at all if I hadn’t caught you earlier.” Smokescreen grinned wickedly. “This way I get to anticipate his reaction when you not only reveal the thing, but that you’ve already ensured it’s beyond his reach.”

They shared a good chuckle at the thought, then let the matter drop. They had a review session to reschedule.


	3. Chapter 3

The whole ghost incident didn’t seem any less real after a full night’s recharge. Prowl had drifted off to the sounds of crystal song echoing in his audials, unable to shake the memory of the music. Once asleep, he dreamed  — dreamed of other songs, of melodies weaving through carefully maintained sculptures beneath the stars. He could almost feel the cool night air on his door wings… 

He discovered there really  _ was  _ a draft coming from an open vent blowing across his exposed sensory panels when he woke, but knowing that didn’t shake the effect of the dream. It left him feeling distracted, struggling to focus, and having difficulty preparing for his day. Had it been Jazz singing in his dream? It couldn’t have been. But then, where had the music come from? Prowl had never heard those songs before, and he certainly didn’t have the talent to imagine them himself.

Caught up in thoughts of music and crystals and ghosts, Prowl found himself starting to turn off automatically toward the library on his way to the Academy campus. By the time he realized what he was doing it was too late to merge back onto the highway, and he was forced to finish exiting and circle back. The unanticipated detour almost made him late arriving to class for the first time in his life.

Missing his appointment with Smokescreen had been bad enough; now he was nearly tardy too? Unforgivable! Prowl very consciously put all thoughts of Jazz and anything to do with him out of his processor as the lecture started.

He maintained a strict mental discipline throughout the course of the day. As far as any of his instructors or classmates knew, everything was perfectly normal. Prowl had spent a quiet evening studying yesterday, working on the closing arguments for a particularly tricky custody case. Nothing more.

That assignment was, in fact, what he needed to work on that night. However much he wanted to get back to his personal project, he couldn’t let his marks suffer for it. Like he’d told Smokescreen, he had plenty of time. It wasn’t like Jazz was  _ going  _ anywhere.

Prowl had to stomp on the guilt that threatened over that thought. After thousands of years, a couple of days  _ were not  _ going to matter. He couldn’t go back to the chapel until he had the time to spare to stay a while.

Or until he’d had a chance to do some more research.

The opportunity to do that research didn’t come quickly. Between classes, assignments, a part-time internship with Judge Camber, and the unofficial consulting he did for his friends and family  — like helping his cousin prepare for his upcoming audit  — Prowl had a very busy schedule. He wasn’t able to devote more than a few minutes here and there to chasing down the rest of the names and completing his timeline at the smaller library on campus.

Barricade really could have saved him time on that step, if he’d been willing to ask him. He would know just by looking at the names what order they belonged in and who came after the latest ruling head of house, whereas Prowl had to look each of them up individually. Not an overly complicated process, and he had been close to finishing when Smokescreen had interrupted him in the library, but still. That was just the starting point.

His completed timeline brought him to one Lord Obduras. The glyphs for his name matched the edges of the cracked sigil, making Prowl feel confident in pursuing him without needing to ask Jazz for confirmation. He told himself it was to spare his feelings in case he didn’t want to talk about him, but the truth was that the more time passed, the more nervous Prowl was to return. What if Jazz wasn’t there? What if he wasn’t real?

What if he  _ was,  _ and was upset about how long Prowl had stayed away after promising to come back?

Back and forth the argument went in his head as he kept up his regular activities. It was only once the resources available to him at home and at the Academy were exhausted three weeks later that he couldn’t put it off any longer. He needed to go back to the central library.

The night before he planned to go back, he dreamed again. He dreamed of fanciful crystals and gentle music. It left him feeling somehow nostalgic when he woke. The feeling only deepened as he made his way  — this time purposefully  — to the library.

His intention was to spend the first half of the day working. Prowl had cleared his schedule so he could stay all the way through the evening this time. He had schoolwork to do in addition to the research about Jazz and the chapel and all his other questions about the ghost. But as he transformed and walked onto the grounds, approaching the steps, he slowed. He came to a stop at the base of the stairs, listening.

Was that…?

He turned down the path to the garden.

As he made his way along the path, the more the familiar whispers of wind through crystal sounded like the muted strains of a much more deliberate song. Prowl followed the notes back to the massive purple hedge. Getting to the narrow channel through it required leaving the path and circling around to the side. He found himself actually venting a sigh of relief when he found it. That much, at least, was real.

Prowl carefully navigated the cramped passage, keeping his door wings folded back to avoid clipping them against the crystal. The chapel stood waiting for him as he came around the last turn, glowing softly. The roof formed by the hedge must not be as thick as the walls, Prowl realized, because the morning sun scattered rainbows on the ground as it lanced down through it and the windows of the chapel.

Now that he was inside the small clearing, there was no mistaking the sounds in the air. The crystal was definitely singing purposefully, but there was no black-and-silver anywhere in sight. Prowl stepped forward cautiously, almost afraid to announce himself. He forced the fear down, and did so anyway.

“Jazz?” He felt a little silly calling out to what looked like an empty building… but then, it wasn’t really empty.

The song stopped and the rainbows flickered in one of the windows, resolving into a blue-visored figure with a wide, bright smile.

“You came back!” Jazz exclaimed, pressing against the crystal glass. “You really came back! I thought I’d just dreamed you up so I wouldn’t be alone anymore.”

“I thought perhaps I had imagined you,” Prowl admitted, walking up to stand in front of him. Jazz was shorter than Prowl, but the height difference didn’t matter when the ghost could simply float up to optic level  — which he did.

“Figured you were seeing things, huh?” Jazz laughed. “Can’t say I blame you. Most mechs don’t believe in ghosts.”

“I… was not sure what to believe.” He hadn’t actively  _ disbelieved _ in ghosts, but neither had he expected to ever actually meet one. “I meant to begin researching the subject today.”

“Well, the library’s good for that. To an extent.” Jazz looked over Prowl’s shoulder in the direction of the building. “Last I knew they didn’t have a whole lot on the supernatural other than a bunch of superstitions and fairy tales though.”

“Last you knew?” Interesting choice of words, for someone who said he was trapped where he was.

Jazz picked up on his confusion and laughed again. “Told you last time I used to be able to go out into the garden, didn’t I?” He tipped his helm toward the missing window. “Come in? Please? I can tell you more than you’ll find in there anyway.”

Prowl didn’t hesitate. He stepped inside slowly so he wouldn’t be dizzied by all the reflections, watching as Jazz’s reflection followed him along the wall and turned to face the interior as he crossed over the threshold. “It truly is beautiful here,” he remarked, still not quite immune to the disorienting floating sensation, “though we could have talked as easily outside.”

“Actually it’s easier for me inside,” Jazz informed him. “It’s less effort to talk with the acoustics in here.”

“It is?” Prowl looked around the chamber, considering how the forms of the building might help shape and amplify sound. Was that why the crystal song in the garden just barely had undertones of his voice in it? 

“Yeah. But if you’re really not comfortable in here, I don’t mind.”

“No,” Prowl reassured him, “I will be fine. I just need a moment to adjust.”

“Sure. What’s better for you then?” Jazz asked, gesturing as he spoke. “Windows? Or the floor?”

“As long as you are not jumping around and making it difficult to follow you, either should be fine,” Prowl replied. “Can you not appear again as you did before within the room?”

“Not easily. Only reason I could do that was because of the song. I have to activate the crystal in order to manifest like that.” Prowl hadn’t moved away from the windows, so Jazz stayed hovering where he was. “That’s the only way I can do anything  — through the crystal.”

“Is that how you were able to leave before too then?” Prowl remembered Jazz saying something about there having been more of the rainbow crystal out in the garden. If he had used it to move around before it died out that would have given him a wider range, though it didn’t explain how he knew the contents of the library.

“Yup! You walk in the garden, and so did I! After a fashion.” Jazz hummed lightly, making the crystal resonate just enough for Prowl’s door wings to twitch. “Back when they were still there I could sing to the sculptures outside and follow their echoes out to them. I wasn’t able to make them resonate enough to ever manifest beyond a reflection, but I could sing my way from one to the next around the garden and listen to conversations.” He smiled fondly. “I miss it.”

Well, there was one answer at least. Jazz must have overheard someone talking about what was in the library at some point. “It has been a long time since you were able to do so, yes?” Prowl asked, thinking. “The library will have updated its collection since then. Perhaps they have better resources available now.”

“Maybe, maybe not. You’re welcome to try. I still say I’d know more about ghosts than they do.”

That was probably true. About things other than ghosts as well. But… “I do not want to ask you anything that will cause you grief.”

“Aww.” Jazz’s expression softened after a moment of startlement. “That’s so sweet! But you don’t need to worry. Being dead doesn’t bother me anymore.”

Prowl wasn’t sure he believed that. “If you are sure,” he said carefully, “though not all of the questions I have pertain to your time as a ghost.”

“You… want to know about my life?” Jazz sounded surprised. “It wasn’t that interesting a life.”

“It sounded interesting to me.” Prowl walked along the perimeter of the chapel slowly, making sure to look at all of the columns. This time he was able to place all of the names he’d missed seeing on his previous visit on his timeline; all of them came before Lord Obduras. “I did some reading on the family after I left last time. It seemed an interesting time to live.”

“Depends on your definition of interesting. Not many would consider servant work much fun to talk about.”

“Then do not tell me of your work.” Prowl stopped in front of the column bearing his name. The portrait didn’t look much like him, he thought. Not really. Only a little, perhaps, in the lines of his face. Certainly the other Prowl had a much more elegant and ornate helm  — and likely a frame to match.

Prowl didn’t neglect himself; no lawyer would be taken seriously if he didn’t keep his colors crisp and his polish pristine. Beyond that, he’d never really given much thought to how he looked. All his life Barricade had been the more handsome of the two of them, more striking in appearance. It hadn’t ever mattered to Prowl before.

He found himself oddly wondering what Jazz thought of him now.

Jazz had ‘walked’ along with Prowl rather than blinking from window to window. He was standing in the pane behind him when Prowl turned back to look, his gaze fixed on the portrait.

“Tell me about him?” Prowl asked, his door wings drooping sadly. “Whatever else happened after the guards pulled him away from you, they erased him from the records. I could find no mention of him.”

“Figures.” Jazz sounded like he’d expected that, but something about his expression made Prowl feel as though his EM field, if he’d had one, would have been pained and sad. Perhaps because of the way the colors dimmed around them. “It shouldn’t be like that. He shouldn’t be forgotten like he never existed.”

“This sigil is proof that he once lived,” Prowl pointed out. “And you still remember him.”

“Always.” Jazz smiled. “The young lord had such a grace about him. And he was so kind! I’d heard he was the good sort before I actually met him — servants talk, you know — but I could still hardly believe it when he asked me to keep singing instead of chasing me away from his meditations.” 

He looked over to the empty window. Prowl guessed that was where the door had once stood; perhaps that was why Jazz had chosen that window to break in the first place. A hasty replacement would probably have been more susceptible to damage than any of the others.

“I was out in the garden drying the crystals. There’d been a light acid shower, which isn’t really bad for them except for where it pools and eats into the sculptures, so I was mopping up acid puddles and singing. They had me on the night shift because I had better vision for it.” A twinkle sparkled across the band of Jazz’s visor. “Perk of being a Poly. But even with better night vision, it was easier to hear when the crystals were dry than it was to see it.”

“How do you  _ hear  _ something like that?” The notion seemed incredible to Prowl.

“By listening, of course!” Jazz chuckled. “Sorry, couldn’t help it. I’m not trying to make fun of you — none of the other crystal workers ever thought to do it that way either. I just have better audials than most, and perfect pitch to boot.” 

Pausing his story to hum a note, Jazz let the clear tone fill the room. “Hear that?”

“Yes,” Prowl said, wondering where he was going with this.

“Great. Fix that note in your mind.” Prowl listened as it faded away, locking it in his processor. “Got it? Okay. Now listen to this one.” 

Jazz hummed again, once again filling the chapel with bright sound. To Prowl it didn’t precisely  _ sound  _ different, but it  _ felt  _ different when he dialed up the sensitivity in his door wings. The frequency it registered at was ever so slightly higher than the first note had been, and he nodded, understanding.

“You were able to tell when the crystal was dry by the way it responded to your song,” he said and was rewarded by Jazz’s smile.

“Exactly! I had a tune for each variety in the garden, keyed to harmonize perfectly when the crystal was clear and dry. All I had to do was wipe them down until all the sour notes were gone.”

“That is remarkably clever.” Prowl was impressed. What an elegant solution! “What an innovative way to make use of your natural talents.”

Jazz’s reflection rippled, distorting the edges of his figure. “Did I say something wrong?” Prowl asked, concerned.

“No! No, it’s not that,” Jazz said quickly as he came back into focus. “It’s just… That’s almost exactly what he said, when I explained what I was doing.” Once again he looked past Prowl, out into a garden of memory only he could see. “I thought he’d come to order me to stop. I didn’t realize he was in the chapel or I would have waited until he left. We weren’t supposed to draw attention to ourselves like that. It didn’t usually end well if we did.”

Prowl presumed that by ‘we’ Jazz meant the servants of the house. “You expected him to punish you?”

“I did. But he told me to keep singing. For a while that was all he wanted, to hear me sing. Most nights he’d sit in the chapel while I worked, just listening, but then he started walking along the path with me. That’s how we really got to talking to each other, on those walks. I was surprised by how interested he was to hear about my life, my job. He was the heir to the house! But he said that was  _ why  _ he was interested. He said if he was going to be a successful lord then he needed to hear everyone’s story. Even that of a foreign gardener.”

That sounded a lot like the responsibility to fairness Prowl felt was necessary in a good judge. One couldn’t rule justly — either in a court case or as a leader of mechs — without listening fairly to everyone without bias.

“He sounds like an excellent, upstanding mech,” Prowl said softly. “It is a shame he did not learn such virtues from his sire.”

“No one could have learned anything good from that walking pile of scrap! He was the most rigid, unyielding, and uncharitable mech I ever had the misfortune of meeting. Too bad he was the lord of the house.” Harsh reds and hot purples popped in the crystal at Jazz’s heated anger before cooling back into more soothing blues and greens. “Prowl was lucky to have a better mentor than him.”

Prowl’s door wings drew back sharply at hearing Jazz say his name. He quickly forced them to settle back into a neutral position, hoping the ghost hadn’t noticed. “Who was his mentor?”

“An old sage called Yoketron. I never met him, but he was revered across all of Cybertron for his wisdom and compassion.” Jazz’s attention came back to the present, his gaze settling on the sigil first, then shifting to Prowl. “You’d be able to find books on him, if you look in the library. Probably even some of the things he wrote himself.”

Prowl didn’t have to go looking to know Jazz was right about that. Master Yoketron was still held in high regard even now, and Prowl had seen many of his writings in the library. He had even read some of them, though philosophy was hardly his main area of study or interest. Compared to what he had read recently about Lord Obduras, Prowl could easily see how Yoketron’s tutelage would have been superior.

Somewhat belatedly he realized that gave him something else to help him with his historical research. “Did the young lord learn from him in person?” he asked. Master Yoketron had travelled all around Cybertron; if his time in Praxus corresponded with the chapel, Jazz, and the other Prowl all being removed from history, that gave him a much shorter timeframe to search than the entirety of Lord Obduras’s tenure as head of House Rhadamanthys.

“Yeah, he did. Why? Is that important?”

“It helps me know where to look, if there is anything left to be found.”

“I could do you one better,” Jazz said with a teasing grin. “I could tell you the year I died.”

Prowl felt his frame heating with embarrassment. “I did not wish to—”

“—to cause me any distress, yeah, I got that,” Jazz laughed. “But I told you, it doesn’t bother me. I died in Lord Obduras’s 42nd vorn as head of house.”

“…I had at least worked out which head of house to look for,” Prowl said, his tone slightly injured. “But knowing about Master Yoketron is still useful. He may have left references to his student in his writings that the house failed to fully expurgate.”

Now it was Jazz’s turn to look chagrined. “I never even thought of that,” he admitted. “Would you? Would you look for me and see if you can find anything?”

He sounded so hopeful. Even if Prowl hadn’t already decided to do just that, he wouldn’t have been able to refuse him. “Of course I will,” he promised. “I could go see what I can find now and return before the library closes, if you would like?”

“Yes! That would be wonderful!” For a second it looked almost like Jazz had tried to reach out to hug Prowl; his hands came up in front of him, having the effect of pushing his reflection further away in the window. He blinked confusedly for a moment, then let his hands drop and stepped forward again. “You’ll be back before it gets dark?” he asked, pointedly ignoring the slip.

“Yes,” Prowl said, hiding his smile. He didn’t want Jazz to think he was laughing at his expense. “Is there anything else you would like me to look up for you?” He hesitated for a moment, but Jazz had said twice now not to worry about what he asked… “Perhaps a way to be free of this place?”

Jazz’s reflection wavered again as the offer caught him off-guard. Prowl waited patiently for him to answer, hoping he hadn’t overstepped.

“…I’ll think about it,” he finally said slowly, his image still wobbly and indistinct. His voice sounded far away. “Thank you… say. I never did ask you your name.” 

There it was. Prowl had been hoping he might get away one more time without having to tell him, but as reluctant as he was, he couldn’t dodge the question or lie.

“My name,” he answered quietly, fairly certain he would not be leaving right away to search in the library after all, “is Prowl.”

A startled gasp echoed around the chapel.

_"Prowl?!"_


	4. Chapter 4

Jazz was obviously as surprised as Prowl had been  — and understandably more rattled  — to learn that his new friend shared the name of the mech he’d become a ghost to wait for. He vanished completely for several minutes after his initial shocked exclamation, leaving Prowl staring at a blank window

Prowl wasn’t sure if Jazz was upset and didn’t want to keep talking to him, or if he was just having trouble collecting himself. Having decided to wait as long as necessary to hear either way, he was glad to see Jazz’s expression was incredulous rather than pained or angry when he came back.

“Really? Your name is  _ Prowl? _ ” Jazz’s reflection shimmered a bit, matching the slight unsteadiness in his voice. “That is a  _ massively unlikely  _ coincidence, mech.”

“It is,” Prowl agreed. “I could hardly believe it myself when I saw the sigil. I apologize for not saying anything before, but… I did not know how.”

“Totally understandable,” Jazz said quickly, voice a bit brittle. “Don’t even worry about it. I wouldn’t have known what to say if you had! Don’t really know what to say now,” he admitted, sounding a little lost.

“Neither do I.” Prowl started to take a hesitant step closer to the window, but then aborted the movement and stayed where he was. What comfort could he possibly offer? “I imagine it must be more difficult for you, since you knew him,” he said, hoping to express his sympathy. “I am merely struggling with an overwhelming statistical improbability.”

“Now there’s a mouthful,” Jazz chuckled.  His voice and shape steadied as his mood shifted; Prowl was glad he had managed say the right thing after all. “Did you actually do the math?”

“I had not, though I could now if you are interested.” The calculation wouldn’t be an easy one given the factors involved, but it was doable. Prowl initiated a background process to start running the numbers. “The best place to start would be determining the odds of two mechs such as he and I sharing a name, which are already significantly low.”

“How come?”

“The young lord was a noble; I am not.”

“So?” That seemed to confuse Jazz, which in turn confused Prowl. The reason that was problematic ought to be as obvious to Jazz as it had been to him, given when he’d lived. “I thought the nobility collapsed after the unification of the cities and a bunch of the old laws were abolished.”

“It did, and they were,” Prowl confirmed, “but what was once law is still observed by tradition. Noble names are almost never seen in use today.” 

“Huh. And here I thought that people would just start using whatever names they wanted.” Jazz sounded disappointed to hear they hadn’t. “The last of the rainbow crystal outside  — if you’ll pardon the expression  — gave up the ghost the same century the treaties were signed. It was all the last mechs I saw in the garden ever talked about: what was a unified Cybertron going to mean for Praxus? What  _ should  _ it mean?”

Now his lack of understanding made sense. Prowl couldn’t help laughing softly at the turn of phrase, even as he got the impression Jazz had some serious opinions about what the unification should have meant. He wondered how close the reality came to the ghost’s dreams. “Did you ever share your thoughts on the subject with any of them?”

“Oh, we had some  _ grand _ discussions, let me tell you!” Reneging on his earlier promise not to jump around the chapel, Jazz began blinking from window to window, talking in different voices to carry on a conversation in multiple parts with himself. 

_ “I think it’s a complete travesty!” _ he began in a high, disapproving tone.

_ “Oh yes, I know! How can they even consider allowing commoners and foreigners to desecrate the names of our noble forebears!” _ That one was lower pitched and had a considerably affected upper-class accent.

“As if they don’t desecrate them all on their own,” he said in his normal voice before switching once again.

_ “Well, I think it’s a sign of progress.” _

_ “Hah! And would you have them grant Praxian citizenship to foreigners too?” _

_ “Of course! Everyone should be able to benefit from the advantages our fair city has to offer.” _

He kept going like that, putting on a grand show while Prowl tried to keep up with his movements without making himself dizzy. He’d just about gotten the hang of it when Jazz started splitting his reflection across the joins between crystal facets, appearing in duplicate and even triplicate to continue the debate.

_ “You might as well face it, the treaties are signed. Change is coming and there’s no way to stop it.” _

_ “I’m not saying it can be stopped, or that it should be! But it needs to be controlled.” _

“Right, control, because that’s what you’ve always been obsessed with, isn’t it?”

_ “And just how do you propose we do that?” _

_ “Funny, I was going to ask you the same question.” _

Prowl doubted Jazz was quoting anyone verbatim from the nearly dozen voices he was mimicking. It was fascinating to watch, even if the delivery and gestures were grossly exaggerated for effect. But while the conversation contained an element of back-and-forth between the other speakers, Prowl noticed that none of them ever responded to anything Jazz said in his own voice.

His probability calculations came to a grinding halt at the implications of  _ that. _

“Jazz?”

_ “Just think of the business opportunities!” _

_ “Right  _ _ — _ _ expanding into new markets, access to new resources, better education.” _

“Jazz.”

_ “But they’re going to force everyone’s creations to go to the same schools!” _

_ “Come on, the diversity’ll be good for them.” _

_ “He’s got a point, I think there’s a lot that we can learn—" _

“Jazz!”

_ “—from each other,” _ Jazz trailed off. “Whoops.” He was standing at an intersection of several panes near the ceiling, multiple reflections fanning out in a starburst all joined at his feet. His voice seemed to come from all of them at once, layering over itself strangely. He (all of him) sank into the point where the panes met, converging into a single reflection in the window above Prowl and floating down until they were at optic level again. “Guess I got a bit carried away. I wasn’t trying to give you a processor ache.”

“You did not,” Prowl assured him, though it was in fact a relief to not be battling vertigo anymore. “That is not why I was trying to get your attention.”

“It wasn’t?” Jazz’s helm tilted inquiringly. “Then what was?”

“The mechs in the garden  — the ones you were impersonating just now.” Prowl’s door wings angled apologetically behind him for what he was about to say. “None of them ever actually heard you talking to them, did they?”

“…” Once more Jazz’s visor got that sad, far away look to it. “No,” he answered at last. “They didn’t. I talked to them, but they never talked back to me. Sometimes I thought maybe someone could see me… But they never answered when I called out to them.” He sighed, a weary groan of aging crystal. “That’s why I thought you couldn’t be real.”

Prowl didn’t comment on the irony of a ghost thinking  _ he  _ was the one that wasn’t real. “If that is the case,” he said, focusing on the core of his question, “why can I see and hear you?”

“Because we’re in the chapel. No one else ever found it,” Jazz said easily, as though that explained everything. And it might have  — if not for one thing.

“Then tell me,” Prowl said, struggling with the impossibility, “what was I hearing in the garden?”

Jazz opened his mouth to respond, then closed it again.

“It was you,” Prowl said quietly, the realization only now truly sinking in. It was Jazz’s voice he’d been hearing beneath the whispering of the crystal; Jazz’s voice that had led him to and through the hedge to this place. A voice no one else was able to hear, and yet  — “I could hear you singing.”

They stared at each other for a long moment of silence.

“I think the coincidence level just jumped from  _ massively unlikely  _ to  _ astronomically ridiculous." _

The absurdity of that paired with the face Jazz was making had Prowl laughing again. “That is one way of putting it,” he said once he was able to speak clearly again, smiling at the somewhat mystified Polyhexian in the chapel window. “Perhaps I should add that to my list of things to research, if you do not know the reason why.”

“I don’t,” Jazz shook his helm, “but I want to know what it is when you find it!”

This time Prowl didn’t hesitate. He stepped up and brought his hand up to rest over Jazz’s. The crystal glass hummed under his fingers where they made contact. “I will let you know when I do,” he promised. “I doubt one day will be enough, but I will come and say goodbye tonight before I leave, regardless of what I find.”

“Thank you,” Jazz said, unmoving until Prowl stepped away. Then he followed him around the walls to the missing window, watching again from the pane beside it as Prowl returned to the library.

He could hear the crystal singing behind him the whole way back.

***

Prowl had been right about it taking longer than a day. He didn’t accomplish much beyond what he needed for class that first session before it was time to go back out to the garden to say goodbye to Jazz. He’d felt terrible about his lack of results, but Jazz had laughed and told him not to worry about it when he tried to apologize. There was no rush, he insisted, and after all: the more often Prowl had to visit the library, the more he would get to see of him!

And see more of him he did. Over the next couple of weeks, Prowl started spending even more time at the library — and with Jazz — than he usually did now that he wasn’t avoiding it anymore. Yet somehow, it didn’t feel like enough. He had so many things to follow up on: the family history and any details that might still exist pertaining to the chapel to eventually present to the library, Master Yoketron’s writings to try to find out what had happened to the historical Prowl for Jazz (and, if he was honest, himself as well), and anything he could turn up on ghosts to try to understand what was going on.

It was a daunting amount of work. Each search opened up new avenues to pursue, branching out again and again with each one he followed. Yoketron’s work, for instance, involved more than pulling his titles and reading them. His writings referenced dozens,  _ hundreds  _ of other works, often only via subtle contextual clues, and hunting down all of  _ those  _ titles to make sure he understood the references Yoketron was making was incredibly time consuming for Prowl. He was working on a degree in law — religion and philosophy weren’t exactly his strongest suit.

Jazz offered to help initially, suggesting that Prowl bring the datapads out to the chapel so they could go over them together. It hadn’t worked out very well in practice, since Jazz wasn’t any more of an expert than Prowl was on the subject. Plus, being in the chapel made it difficult to retrieve new materials quickly from the stacks. But what made it truly impossible, rather than just inconvenient, was that Prowl was the only one who could actually write anything down to look up later, and Jazz couldn’t read anything without interrupting Prowl to scroll the pages for him.

Fortunately the historical research was of a more legal persuasion and as a result much easier, thank  _ Primus.  _ Prowl had started using family history, of all things, as a way to relax from the processor ache-inducing nightmare that was researching supernatural phenomena. Smokescreen would have laughed himself into a clogged ventilator if he’d known, but so far Prowl had managed to keep it a secret from his cousin. He might know about the chapel, but he didn’t know about its occupant.

Prowl had never known how large an umbrella term ‘supernatural’ was (or ‘ghosts’, for that matter) until he tried typing it and related keywords into the library search engine. He got hundreds of hits immediately, all varying widely in their focus and credibility. Most of the primary authors weren’t considered real scholars by the rest of the academic community; an opinion that wasn’t helped by the fact that their theories, most of them as unscientific as their methods for ‘proving’ them, all tended to contradict one another.

After sifting through what felt like mountains of publications that amounted to little more than glorified guesswork, personal opinions, and superstitions, Prowl finally hit on something that looked promising nearly three weeks after he’d revealed his name to Jazz. A derogatory comment in one author’s thesis led him to an Iaconi researcher specializing in possession and small scale hauntings, which he claimed to have made a properly scientific study of. The central library in Praxus didn’t own any copies of the mech’s work, but Prowl was able to submit an interlibrary materials request to have one transferred.

The last time he requested a hard copy from Iacon it had taken almost a week to arrive, so he was pleasantly surprised when one of the library aides came to find him only a few days later.

“Excuse me, Prowl?” he said quietly as he approached. He was new  — Prowl had only seen him once before and hadn’t gotten his name  — and he sounded unsure that he was talking to the right mech.

“Yes?” Prowl replied, ignoring the way the aide was looking at the datapads and flimsies covering his table with trepidation. It was the sort of mess that would take a long time to re-catalogue. Clearly he wasn’t familiar with Prowl’s habit of picking up after himself.

“The text you requested from Iacon just arrived,” the mech said, raising his helm to look at Prowl. “There was a note that you wanted to know as soon as it came in?”

“I did, yes. Thank you for letting me know promptly of its arrival.” Prowl checked his chronometer, knowing it was getting late in the evening and that he had an appointment to keep. The alarm he had set to remind himself to leave on time was due to go off in a few minutes. He might as well pack up and head out to meet Smokescreen now. “I will pick it up on my way out.”

Prowl stood and began straightening the piles on the desk, pulling out the case he’d taken to carrying with him out to place a large portion of them inside. “I will be checking these out as well,” he said for the aide’s benefit. Then he picked up what remained and headed into the stacks to replace them.

It was a simple job to put the datapads he wasn’t taking with him to finish reading at home back in the correct places, even though there were quite a few of them. The paranormal and metaphysics section of the library wasn’t large; no one but Prowl had been removing anything from its shelves, and he had long ago committed the library’s cataloguing system to memory.

He lingered for a moment when he’d finished, hidden between the rows of book- and vid-files. He wished he had time to slip out to the garden today. Jazz said he understood that Prowl couldn’t visit him every single time he came to the library, that it wasn’t practical when he only had an hour or two. It didn’t stop Prowl from wanting to. There was just something about being there with Jazz that felt… right.

When Prowl carried his selections up to the desk, the clerk behind it smiled in recognition at him. “Did you find anything useful today?” he asked as he started processing the datapads through the system. “The new file you had on request came in. Would you like me to get that for you now?”

“Please,” Prowl nodded. “I am hoping it will prove as useful as I have been led to believe.”

“Hold on while I grab it then.” The clerk didn’t have to go far to retrieve it. Prowl had a section of shelf set aside for him behind the counter bearing a label with his name since he requested shared materials so frequently. Most of them were still school related at the moment, but he expected he’d be using the function more and more for his private research as he kept working his way through the rest of the library’s inventory.

“Here it is!  _ Haunted Homesteads: How to Find Ghosts in Everyday Household Objects,  _ correct?” The clerk read the title as he pulled up the display on the datapad. “Not exactly an academic source, is it?”

“An independent project, unrelated to my degree,” Prowl said, adopting a long-suffering tone. “Sometimes I wonder if the appliances in my kitchen might not benefit more from an exorcism than a repairmech.”

“I know the feeling,” the clerk chuckled good naturedly. “Though you might consider something from the home improvement section if you’re having that kind of trouble.”

“No, just a new hobby,” was all Prowl said on the matter before prompting the clerk to finish the check-out process. “I do need to be going.”

“Oh, of course! One moment.” The clerk finished scanning everything and handed the stack back with the loaner on top. “Here you are, everything you brought up and volumes one and two of  _ Haunted Homesteads,  _ all due back at the end of the month. Have a good day Prowl!”

That was interesting… Prowl frowned slightly but took the datapads without commenting and waved goodbye to the clerk. He had requested the first volume  — but not the second. How could he have, when volume two hadn’t been published yet?

He paused outside the doors to the library, knowing he needed to be getting on the road but unable to resist the mystery. Placing his other acquisitions back in the case to keep them together, he subspaced everything except the  _ Haunted Homesteads _ datapad and activated it to scroll through the table of contents. Sure enough, there below the index for volume one was a link for volume two.

Curious, Prowl tapped it. Instead of text like he was expecting, the only thing that came up was a single line of numbers. Prowl recognized the length and format immediately: a commline frequency.

He barely had time to wonder at the oddity when a line of text started appearing below it, typing itself out before his optics. Someone was using the datapad to message him!

_ Contact me if you want to know the truth. _

Prowl blinked down at the screen, reading the sentence again. The truth? What truth? Contact who?

_ I know what you’ve been researching. _

That was ambiguous enough that it could mean almost anything, but it was enough that Prowl began to feel suspicious.

_ I know what you found. I know you’re trying to hide it. _

Fingers tightened on the datapad. Now he was more than suspicious. He had been trying to involve as few mechs as possible in his research process to prevent anyone finding out about the chapel before he was ready. And he wasn’t ready! Prowl felt his spark clench in his chest. What was this about?

_ No one understands, do they? But I do! You can trust me, Prowl. We can help each other. Call me! You have my number. _

He waited for more text to appear, but there was nothing. He really would have to dial the number on the datapad.

There were plenty of reasons why that was a bad idea, but Prowl couldn’t just ignore it. While it was possible the message was genuine, it could just as easily be nothing more than someone’s idea of a joke. But he couldn’t risk it. There was too much at stake if whoever this was really knew about the chapel.

Prowl was putting the call through almost before he’d completed that thought. The line rang for a moment, and then —

::Hello? Who is this? How did you get this number?:: The answering mech’s voice was animated and distracted. There was a great deal of noise in the background, perhaps some kind of industrial equipment. Prowl wasn’t familiar enough with the sounds to identify anything beyond than that. ::This is a restricted frequency! WAIT. Are you one of them?!::

::No,:: Prowl said haltingly, taken a bit aback. Who was ‘them’? He double-checked that he hadn’t misdialed the frequency. He hadn’t. ::I believe you asked me to call you?::

::I did? When did I do that? Oh! I did do that. Sorry, I wasn’t sure you’d actually call.:: A loud  _ clang!  _ interrupted him. There was some muffled cursing followed by the whirring in the background cutting out, making it much easier for Prowl to hear as the stranger continued. ::So? That means you’ve seen them, right? You’ve made contact?::

Prowl frowned. The mech didn’t sound like he was talking about the chapel… ::Made contact with whom?::

::With the other side, of course!:: Enthusiasm practically crackled over the connection. ::With the ghosts! That’s how I found you! Something set you on the path, and by Primus! We’re going to find it together!::

_ That  _ wasn’t what Prowl had been expecting at all. How had this mech even known that he was researching ghosts? Was this some fanatic ghost hunter who’d happened to see his recent library account activity? He needed to end the call; this was  _ not  _ something he wanted to get involved with. ::I apologize, but you are mistaken. I am sorry to have bothered you—::

::No wait, don’t go!:: The spastic quality suddenly vanished from the mech’s voice. ::You’ve been looking into ghosts  — not casually. Seriously. You’re looking for information about anchored spirits.:: His tone was completely different, so much so that Prowl almost wondered if he was still talking to the same mech. ::I’d like to meet you. There’s a lot I can share with you that you won’t find in my writings, if you’re willing to share your encounter with me.:: Some of the glee snuck back in. ::I haven’t met a Praxian ghost yet!::

_ Polyhexian,  _ Prowl’s processor corrected, then caught up to what the mech had said:  _ his writings. _ Did that mean this was…? ::You want to meet me?:: Prowl asked. It didn’t sound like he knew about Jazz specifically, but it would be prudent to find out for sure.

::In person,:: the mech reiterated. ::Meet me at the northern transit station in an hour! I’ll tell you everything then.::

::This evening? I—:: Prowl was about to say he couldn’t make it, that he had a previous engagement (that he was about to be late for  _ again!  _ Smokescreen would never let him hear the end of it), but the connection had already gone dead. “Fantastic.” What was he supposed to do now?

Another line of text appeared on the datapad.

_ One word: CRYSTALS. _

That settled it. Prowl was going.


	5. Chapter 5

Prowl placed a call to his cousin as he set off for the transit station. He worried that Smokescreen would get curious and start asking a bunch of questions, but what could he do? He couldn’t be in two places at once, and he didn’t want to miss the chance to meet the mystery mech who had contacted him out of nowhere. Based on what the mech had said about ‘his writings’ and the datapad he had used to message him, Prowl suspected it was the author of  _ Haunted Homesteads  _ himself.

Hopefully Smokescreen wouldn’t give him too much grief over the last-minute reschedule.

::Hey Prowl!:: Smokescreen answered brightly. ::Why are you calling? Aren’t you on your way over?::

::I am calling to inform you that I need to reschedule,:: Prowl answered, trying to keep his voice as neutral as possible  — the verbal equivalent of a poker face. ::Something has come up and I will not be able to make it.::

::You’re just calling me  _ now  _ to tell me that?::

The annoyance in Smokescreen’s voice was perfectly understandable, so Prowl tried not to let it bother him. ::I called as soon as I found out. I would have let you know earlier if I had known myself.::

“Yeah, yeah, I know you would have.:: Prowl could hear the resigned sigh. ::Can you still come later tonight, or do we have to pick another day?::

Prowl wanted to say he could still come tonight. It would mean not getting as much recharge as he would have liked before his morning classes, but it was the least he could do to accommodate Smokescreen after being the one to cancel again. The problem was he didn’t know how long this meeting would take. He didn’t want to make any more commitments he couldn’t keep.

::Another day would probably be better,:: he replied, then offered, ::though I could call you again if this takes less time than I anticipate.::

There was a pause as Smokescreen considered. ::You know what, why don’t you do that?:: he said after a moment, his tone thoughtful. ::I’ve got other things I can do in the meantime. If you’re done early enough we can still go over things together, otherwise we’ll pick another date.::

::Thank you, Smokescreen. How late is too late for you?::

::Shouldn’t I be asking you that?:: Smokescreen laughed. ::I know you have class in the morning. How about if it gets past midnight? This review is going to take at least three hours, probably more, and I don’t want to keep you up that late when you can’t sleep in like I can.”

::I appreciate that,:: Prowl said honestly. That had hardly been the inquisition he had been afraid of. ::I will let you know either way by midnight.::

::Great. Now go take care of whatever’s suddenly so important.::

Smokescreen ended the call before Prowl could say goodbye, but he didn’t sound angry, despite his rather abrupt words. If anything he had sounded distracted, like he was already mentally moving on to whatever he was planning on doing to occupy himself. With any luck it wouldn’t be something that would get him in more trouble. One audit at a time was enough to worry about. The business enterprises Smokescreen was involved in weren’t precisely illegal, but the walked a fine enough line that they came under sharp scrutiny every now and then.

Prowl had warned him that if he ever found out he  _ was  _ doing something illegal, they would be having some very harsh words. He didn’t mind offering his services to his family, but he wasn’t becoming a lawyer so he could help any of them flout the law. The way Smokescreen occasionally skirted it was as far as he was willing to go.

The rest of his drive was uneventful. The northern transit station was the closest major hub to the library, so Prowl arrived with time to spare. Since his mysterious contact hadn’t specified where exactly to meet, he simply pulled over into the waiting lot and let his engine idle.

How was he supposed to recognize the mech? He only had a guess who he was meeting, and if it wasn’t who he thought it was, then he had no idea what to look for. And how would the mech recognize  _ him?  _ He knew Prowl’s name, yes, but did he also know what he looked like?

There was no point in chasing his thoughts around in circles. Prowl tried to settle in and wait patiently, pulling up the file he’d been using to take notes on Yoketron’s  _ Nobility of Spark _ on his HUD for something to do. It was a better distraction than trying to start on  _ Haunted Homesteads, _ which was currently in subspace anyway.

It was the most promising of the old sage’s works Prowl had read yet. He’d only gotten about halfway through it so far  — there were lots of dense passages filled with metaphor and allusions to myths and legends he wasn’t familiar with  — but the more he read, the more he thought that maybe he’d found a reference to the historical Prowl at last.

The book was structured as a series of parables about three characters: the Honest Worker, the Humble Servant, and the Hidden Prince. Through them Yoketron illustrated what he called ‘nobility of spark’, a concept that had to do with maintaining integrity, honor, and kindness above all, even in the most trying of circumstances. Prowl knew that the point was to encourage mechs to strive for this nobility of spark themselves, but it was the character of the Hidden Prince that caught and kept his attention. 

He sounded a lot like what Jazz had told him about the other Prowl… and an awful lot like himself. The Prince in the parables was a mech of high standing, just and fair to all regardless of rank or standing before he was cast out of his house and forced to go into hiding in an unfortunate series of events. His anger and bitterness over his situation and what he had lost threatened to consume him and drive everyone away from him, until he found his way again and began following the path of wisdom. In the end, he overcame what had befallen him to reclaim his nobility in the way that mattered most  — in the way he treated others. The Prince’s nobility of spark.

All three characters were written in a way that made Prowl think Yoketron was reinterpreting existing stories rather than purely inventing characters of his own. What he didn’t know was whether he was just altering a generic folktale to sound like his student or if other stories about Prowl had actually existed, just without his name attached to them

Prowl had already tried looking up stories about a ‘Hidden Prince’ in the library with no luck. Now he was trying to find anything else he could search for, hoping that it would lead him to something that could tell him whether or not his ancestor had been executed as Jazz feared or merely exiled like the Hidden Prince.

Hearing the latter would probably be a comfort to Jazz, even if it meant that Prowl hadn’t been able to keep his promise to come back for him.

He had just finished highlighting his way through the last section of copied text in the file, making a note to try ‘lost’ instead of ‘hidden’ next time, when the strangest looking mech Prowl had ever seen arrived at the station. His alt mode looked like a bizarre cross between a tank and a spaceship, with odd wheels in front of a pair of heavy treads and a set of three massive lamps mounted on his roof above the driving cabin. He was massive, easily large enough to qualify as transport class, and nothing about him was even remotely Praxian. As he inched slowly forward into the waiting lot, scanning the crowd, Prowl got a sneaking suspicion that he was the one he was looking for.

“Ah ha!” The enormous gray and green calamity exclaimed. “There you are! Don’t move! I’ve been tracking your signal for over a mile and I’m not going to let you escape now!”

There was nowhere for anyone to go even if they hadn’t all been too stunned to move, so when the mech’s roof transformed back and a large cannon rose up to fire a tethered net through the air, no one was able to get out of the way. Prowl watched as it soared up and over the crowded lot to come down directly above him, its weighted corners pinning him and the two mechs parked to either side of him beneath the plasma-webbing.

“GOTCHA!”

“Hey, what’s the meaning of this?”

“Yeah, what’s wrong with you?!”

“…Wheeljack?” Prowl hazarded, not moving as the others struggled to free themselves from the net.

“You know who I am? You know who I am!” 

All at once the net flew back to the cannon, reeled in before it vanished back inside the… vehicle? It wasn’t a mech at all! Instead of transforming like Prowl expected, the side  opened to reveal a door and a regular sized mech with a blast mask and flashing helm fins. “Are you Prowl?” he asked, ignoring the curses and threats to call security being hurled at him by the other two he had trapped.

“Yes, I am.” Deciding it would be better to leave before they caused an even  _ bigger  _ scene, Prowl transformed and walked over. “Perhaps we can go somewhere else to talk—”

“—about ghosts? Anywhere’s a good place to talk about ghosts! Especially when there’s one nearby!” Wheeljack interrupted, whipping out some sort of portable device covered in dials and antenna. “I picked up a signal and it kept getting stronger the whole way over. It’s got to be close!”

Prowl tried helplessly to think of something to say as Wheeljack fiddled with the buttons. He muttered as it whirred and clicked erratically, then laughed triumphantly when it started beeping. “It’s working! It found the signal again! Now if I can just pinpoint it…” He swept the thing slowly through the air in front of him, switching directions when the beeping slowed. The rate of the sound increased as he turned towards Prowl, becoming a solid, uninterrupted tone when the antenna was pointed directly at his chest.

“Huh. That’s weird.” Wheeljack tapped the readout screen, then shook the device roughly. The tone didn’t falter. “It thinks you’re a ghost! But clearly you’re not.”

Him, a ghost? Prowl blinked, then shook his helm. “Of course not,” he said, baffled. “Why would it say that I am?”

“Haven’t got a clue!” He sounded far too cheerful for that statement to be at all comforting. The blast mask covered his face, but Prowl was sure Wheeljack was smiling behind it. The malfunction didn’t appear to bother him at all. “The Wheeljack Ghost Detector™ doesn’t usually make mistakes, but it’s definitely locked onto you.”

Prowl winced as several other mechs started joining in yelling and honking at Wheeljack and his oversized vehicle. “Perhaps it would also be a mistake to remain here? We are obstructing the exit lane.”

“Of course, you’re right. Come on in! There’s plenty of room in the Wheeljack Ghost RV™!”

“RV?” Prowl asked, gingerly stepping inside after Wheeljack and trying not to feel too nervous as the door slid shut behind him.

“Research Vehicle,” Wheeljack said proudly. “Pull up a seat! I’ll pilot her out of here and park somewhere out of the way so we can talk. Might want to hold onto something,” he added, dropping into the driver’s seat and reaching for the controls.

Prowl had only barely sat down when they lurched into motion. He fumbled for something to brace himself, finding a pair of handles probably designed for that exact purpose on either side of the seat. His fingers curled tightly around them as Wheeljack navigated them out of the station and onto the open road.

“Good timing, it looks like security was about to chase us off,” Wheeljack announced, glancing at a screen with a rearview display. A pair of station enforcers were standing at the gate, dwindling in the distance. “I guess I went a little overboard with the ghost net.”

“Just a ghost net? Not the ‘Wheeljack Ghost Grappler’?”

“It’s still got a few bugs in it,” Wheeljack answered, taking the question in stride. “I don’t put my name on things until they’re ready and proven successful in the field.”

Did that mean the glitchy ghost detector was supposedly proven in the field? Prowl took a moment as Wheeljack focused on merging into traffic to look around the interior of the RV. He couldn’t tell what any of the strange, esoteric devices were supposed to be for, and most of them didn’t look like anything that could even remotely work. There were oddly shaped boxes trailing tangled wires, some kind of complex laser array with missing panels, and parts of a disassembled automaton with exposed circuitry, just to name a few. How was this the mech everyone claimed was the most scientific, the most successful researcher on Cybertron when it came to the supernatural?

“Why did you contact me?” Prowl blurted out, unable to wait any longer. “What makes you think I have been in contact with a ghost?”

“Your second question’s the answer to the first,” Wheeljack replied with a wink. “I contacted you because I thought you might have found a ghost and I wanted to see it. As for why I thought that, well, it’s not every day I see an urgent request for one of my books from another city. I have the library alert me any time someone checks out anything of mine; it’s one of the best ways I’ve found of tracking down potential ghost activity.”

Prowl couldn’t deny that there was  _ some  _ logic in that, but… “I could have just been interested in the subject as a hobby,” he pointed out.

“Sure you could have, but you’re not.” Wheeljack fixed him with a knowing look. “Are you?”

There was no use in denying it; somehow Prowl had already given himself away. “You could not have known that before meeting me,” he still protested, only to have Wheeljack laugh again.

“I knew the minute you called!” He pulled off the main road onto a side street and brought them to a stop in an empty lot, hitting a button on the console to engage the parking brake. “A casual hobbyist would ignore a message like mine. They’d think it was a prank. Digital graffiti in a library book. You were curious enough to call, and nervous enough to try to back out. That adds up to just one thing — a ghost!”

Embarrassed at having been so transparent, Prowl felt his door wings flatten back behind him. “And if you are right, what then? What do you want from me?”

“To exchange information! To meet your ghost and study it!” Wheeljack’s helm fins flickered brightly with his enthusiasm. “I’m not like my colleague, who shall remain nameless but who is  _ not _ the genius he thinks he is, who hunts down ghosts to dissect them molecule by molecule.”

Prowl shuddered at the thought of anyone doing that to Jazz. “He doesn’t want to be  _ studied, _ he wants to be  _ free." _ Free to find his answers, if Prowl couldn’t find them for him, and free to move on. Jazz hadn’t said that was what he wanted right now, but Prowl wanted him to be able to if he chose. Even if the more time he spent with him, the less he wanted to see Jazz go.

“Just as I thought! You’ve got yourself an anchored spirit. Bound to an object, yes?”

Did the chapel count as an object? If so, it was a very big one. “Yes.”

“Well then!” Wheeljack leaned forward excitedly. “Bring it on out!”

“I do not have it with me!” Prowl flinched back slightly. It wasn’t like he could fit an entire building in his subspace!

“Well then bring it next time! I can’t help you if I can’t see what I’m working with,” Wheeljack said easily. “There’s more than one way to sever the bond between a ghost and its focus, depending on how it became attached in the first place. Tell me: does your ghost know it’s a ghost?”

“How could a ghost not know something like that?” Prowl asked, confused by the question.

“Plenty of ghosts don’t realize they’re dead, that’s how. Mostly those who don’t are a lot less dangerous than the ones who do. They tend to be calm or confused, rather than out for revenge.” Wheeljack lifted up his arm and held it out to Prowl, displaying several partially-healed scratches. “See these? I barely made it out with my life after a run-in with a ghostly prospector in Simfur! He was haunting the site of a cave-in, causing accidents to punish the mechs who had escaped and left him behind when it happened. When he found out what I was trying to do he tried to kill me too, but fortunately I had my trusty Wheeljack Ghost Deflector™ with me!” 

Wheeljack whipped out a gadget from his subspace, something that looked like a small projector complete with an oversized lens. He pressed a button, but nothing happened that Prowl could detect. “It creates a shield, see? Using this, I was able to fend off the ghost and run back up the tunnel where he couldn’t follow me anymore. Then I grabbed,” he gestured to a bulky contraption on a wheeled cart tethered in a corner, “my good old Wheeljack Ghost Dispenser™ and took care of him for good!”

None of this was making Prowl feel any better about discussing Jazz with this mech. Maybe he should have kept his meeting with Smokescreen and just read Wheeljack’s book before thinking about calling him. “Wait. You killed a ghost?”

“What? Oh no, no, you misunderstand me!” Wheeljack flapped his hands as if to banish the thought, nearly sending the Ghost Deflector flying before he remembered he was holding it and put it back in subspace. “It’s not called the Ghost Dispenser because it dispenses  _ with  _ ghosts, it’s because it  _ dispenses.  _ You know, like an energon dispenser. Which reminds me, I need to take a look at the one at Percy’s place again, the Ghost Detector was going nuts the last time I was over and so was the dispenser; textbook domestic haunting if I ever saw one. Hang on now, what was I talking about? Ah! Yes, dispensers!” He slapped a hand down loudly on one knee. “The Ghost Dispenser dispenses containment cubes to trap ghosts. I just dispense a cube, pop whatever object the ghost is possessing inside, and presto! The ghost can’t get out!”

It was like listening to a thought process — a chaotic, runaway thought process — out loud. Prowl felt his processor protest trying to follow the high speed stream of consciousness. “So you do not kill them,” he said, focusing on that. “But why capture them? What do you do with them once you have them?”

“I told you! I study them. There’s a lot we can learn from ghosts, you know. They’re our portal to a realm of knowledge we’re just beginning to scratch the surface of!” Wheeljack tapped a few keys on the console to bring up a display and started flipping through a bunch of charts and graphs that Prowl didn’t understand in the slightest. “They perceive things on a different plane than we do, influence things in a way that we can’t while still interacting with the physical world! There’s so much potential if we can just understand how they do what they do — I’m not just talking about the paranormal field, this is about revolutionizing science itself!!”

Wheeljack’s passion was overwhelming, and not a little unsettling. “Fascinating,” Prowl said, not really meaning it as he started to inch his way toward the edge of his seat.

“Isn’t it?” Wheeljack took his statement at face value. “Take crystals, for example.” 

Prowl stopped moving. “What about crystals? You mentioned them on the datapad as well.”

“I did, and for a good reason.” Wheeljack changed the display to show several different varieties of crystal, all with different properties. “Certain crystals are highly sensitive to ghost energies, and ghosts like to use them as channels for their power.” He smiled at Prowl. “That’s why I was so excited to have a reason to come to Praxus and talk to you about your ghost. This is my chance to see a ghost interacting with species of crystal I’ve never observed them with before!”

Standing up from the console, Wheeljack walked over to a cabinet mounted over a small table. He opened it and took down a box to show Prowl. “This is my collection of crystal samples. It’s nowhere near a complete set, but then, you’re Praxian! You know how many different kinds of crystal there are.”

“Yes. Lots.” Prowl honestly didn’t know how many there were; Jazz was the one who would. Being Praxian had nothing to do with it.

His short remark seemed to have amused Wheeljack though, if the twinkling of his helm fins was any indicator. “Lots and lots,” he agreed, “and some of the most ghost-reactive ones are pretty rare and expensive. Take this one, for example.” He set the box down on his seat and picked up a rectangular crystal roughly the size of a small datastick from its hollow. It caught the colors of the blinking console lights as he lifted it and scattered them in coruscating rainbows across the room. “Bet you’ve never seen the like.”

Prowl bit down on a startled gasp of recognition. He  _ had  _ seen its like — but he’d thought he had seen the last of it in giant window panes taller than he was and faceted mosaic tiles larger than his helm. It was exactly the same crystal the chapel was made of, the crystal Jazz had said died out centuries ago. “Did a ghost really possess that?” he asked anxiously, the inklings of an idea beginning to form.

“No, crystals this small don’t work very well to house spirits for long. They’re better as channels for the ghost act through rather than in, if that makes sense.”

It didn’t really, but Prowl didn’t care. He had assumed, based on what he had said about needing to be able to make the crystal resonate enough to manifest fully, that Jazz could only appear in large crystals like the chapel windows or the former garden statues. Prowl could hardly carry around a crystal that size with him everywhere he went, even if one had existed. But if there were fragments that could still be found, and a smaller piece could achieve the same or close to the same resonance as a larger one, that changed everything. Perhaps Jazz wouldn’t be able to fully possess a smaller crystal, but Prowl had already proven to be able to hear him even when he wasn’t really trying to  _ be  _ heard. Maybe something like Wheeljack had would work to let Jazz move outside the chapel again.

If Prowl could get his hands on a piece, anyway. He couldn’t very well ask to borrow this one, and he didn’t have the faintest idea where to start looking for one of his own. Wheeljack had called it rare and expensive, and that meant it wouldn’t be an easy thing to acquire. He was about to ask Wheeljack where he’d gotten his when his comm lit up on his HUD: incoming call from Smokescreen. That was odd, considering it was nowhere near midnight yet. 

“Excuse me, I have a call coming in that I need to take,” Prowl told Wheeljack before answering internally. ::Yes? What is it Smokescreen?::

::Oh thank  _ Primus,  _ I was worried this thing would block my comms!:: Smokescreen’s voice burst over the line, rushed and panicked. ::Please, help me! I don’t know what it wants and I keep trying to leave, but it won’t let me go! I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t have come but you gotta get me out of here! Please!::

What in the name of— ::Smokescreen, where are you? What have you done?::

::I’m… I’m at the library,:: Smokescreen whimpered, actually  _ whimpered, _ and Prowl heard him let out a startled squeak. ::Why didn’t you tell me the place was cursed?!::

Shock and worry bled into Prowl’s EM field enough that Wheeljack sensed it. “Everything okay?”

“I am afraid not,” Prowl said, standing up and walking to the door. What was Smokescreen doing at the chapel? What was happening to frighten him so badly? He needed to get there  _ now.  _ “Please forgive me for my abrupt departure, but my cousin has had an emergency and I need to go to him.”

“Hey, no, I understand, family comes first!” Wheeljack placed the crystal back in its place in the box and reached over the seat to hit the lever to open the door. “I hope your cousin’s okay.”

“Thank you. So do I.”

Prowl transformed as soon as he was clear of the RV. “I’ll call you later so we can figure out when we can talk more!” he heard Wheeljack yell out the side window as he took off. Right; the mech had his number from when he’d called. Well, that was a problem for later. He had a different problem at the moment. At least he hadn’t spent so much time with Wheeljack that the library was closed yet. If he drove quickly he should be able to make it with enough time to find Smokescreen and make sure that he — and Jazz — were okay.


	6. Chapter 6

It wasn’t easy for Prowl to make himself walk slowly through the garden when he arrived at the library. He wanted to run, to hurry down the path and get to the chapel as fast as possible, but he knew that would attract unwanted attention. So he strolled along as casually as he could manage, datapad in hand, pretending to read. 

The crystal around him chimed softly but worryingly to Prowl’s audials. It wasn’t singing like it usually did; if anything, it sounded distressed, which meant that  _ Jazz  _ was distressed. Prowl’s steps quickened in spite of himself as he opened a comm line.

::Smokescreen, are you still there?:: he began, subspacing the datapad and walking up to the crystal hedge. ::I am right outside, I will be there in just a moment.::

::You are? You will? Thank Primus!:: Smokescreen’s voice still sounded small and scared, but there was hope lifting his questions. ::I’m still here. Please hurry!::

Prowl did his best, still moving carefully while climbing and winding through the hedge. Any impulse to rush through disappeared when he clipped the edge of a door wing on one of the walls. He hadn’t hit it very hard but it still smarted. Prowl pulled the panels in closer and slowed down after that until he reached the small hollow where the chapel sat.

He’d no sooner stepped clear of the crystal when he saw Jazz in the window. “Prowl! Oh, thank Primus,” he said, echoing Smokescreen’s sentiment. “I don’t know what’s wrong with him, and everything I try to do just makes things worse.”

“What happened?” Prowl walked up to the missing window to look for Smokescreen. He saw him curled up on the ground at the base of one of the columns, lying on his side with his door wings tucked down as far as he could get them and his hands covering his face. His fingers parted and he peered up through them when he heard Prowl’s voice.

“Prowl? Is that you?” He didn’t make any move to get up; it looked like his optics were having trouble focusing. “Please tell me that’s you.”

“Of course it is,” Prowl told him as he came over and knelt beside him. “What is the matter? Are you injured?”

“He just collapsed like that all of a sudden,” Jazz answered before Smokescreen had a chance. Prowl glanced down to look at him in the polished floor beside them. “He was going around in circles trying to find the way out and then he just sort of fell over.”

“It’s doing it again!” Smokescreen cried out, his fingers squeezing shut tightly again. “Oh, please, make it stop!”

“He’s been saying that a lot, or things like it.” Jazz huffed a sigh that made the crystal around them  — and Smokescreen where he lay  — shiver. “He can’t see me. Can’t see or hear me, no matter what I do. Just like everyone else.”

“Not  _ everyone  _ else.” Prowl laid a hand down on the floor next to him and smiled when Jazz floated up to meet it. “Not me.”

“Prowl?” Smokescreen whispered. “ _Who are you talking to?!_ ”

For Jazz’s sake Prowl didn’t laugh, but the absurdity of the situation still struck him as amusing. If Smokescreen couldn’t see or hear the ghost, then for all he knew, Prowl was talking out loud to an empty room. “I am talking to Jazz.”

“Right, of course, Jazz. That explains everything. Oh, except for the part where it doesn’t explain anything!”

“Calm down,” Prowl told him, reaching out to try to pry his hands away from his face. “I did not tell you about him before because I did not think you would believe me.”

“And because you didn’t believe it yet either,” Jazz added helpfully, making Smokescreen flinch again.

“I thought you said he could not hear you?” He was obviously hearing  _ something  _ if he reacted like that every time Jazz spoke.

“I can hear just fine!” Smokescreen said indignantly, finally uncurling a little bit. “At first I thought it was just the crystal echoing my footsteps or something, but it kept making noise even when I was standing completely still! And the colors! They kept moving and changing—” 

“Hold on. You heard sound, but not words?” Prowl interrupted. “Did you ever see a shape in the windows, any of them? Or just the colors shifting?”

“No!” Smokescreen leveled a suspicious look at Prowl. “Don’t tell me you do?”

“Of course he does! I’m right. Here!” Jazz vanished from the floor to appear in the window facing them and ‘stomped’ his foot emphatically, though the crystal only reacted to the harsh pop of his words.

This time Prowl couldn’t help chuckling as Smokescreen turned to look at the window and then ducked his head against Prowl’s foot. 

“Calm down,” Prowl said again, “ _both_ of you. Smokescreen, Jazz is not trying to scare you or hurt you.” He glanced up at Jazz as if to say he better not have been.

“Of course I’m not!” Jazz insisted. “I just wanted another person to talk to, only he started freaking out and couldn’t find his way back outside. I was trying to draw his attention to the open window so he could leave.”

Prowl immediately saw why that hadn’t worked. With Smokescreen flinching away from the sounds and color patterns Jazz triggered in the crystal, he would have stayed away from the window where Jazz was, not gone over to it.

“He was just trying to talk to you, then help you find the exit when he saw you were upset,” Prowl translated for Smokescreen’s benefit. “Let me guess: your systems are having trouble calibrating in this room.”

“Trouble’s putting it mildly. Last time I tried to stand up I got so dizzy I couldn’t make it past kneeling. And all the flickering lights and vibrations were very much  _ not _ helping!” 

“Jazz did not know that,” Prowl said gently. “The chapel no longer disorients him and he forgets.”

“Forgets? How do you  _ forget  _ something like that?”

“By being a ghost.”

Smokescreen glanced up at Prowl. “You’re actually serious, aren’t you?”

“No, he’s making it all up to mess with you, just like I was,” Jazz said sarcastically.

“Jazz, please. Smokescreen was not trying to ignore you or hurt your feelings. He simply cannot perceive anything beyond how the crystal reacts to you.”

“Oh.” Jazz dimmed slightly. “I really wasn’t trying to frighten him. I just got so excited when he showed up. I thought maybe…” He shook his helm dismissively. “Nevermind what I thought. You should probably get him out of here.”

“Is that what’s going on? The crystal lights up and makes noise when the ghost talks?” Smokescreen sounded much less frightened now, though still a bit skeptical. “How come you can hear what it’s saying and I can’t?”

“We do not know.” That mystery was one Prowl had yet to make any progress on. “We were not certain I was the only one who could, until now. No one has been inside the chapel since Jazz was sealed here, except for me.”

“So… does that mean you aren’t going to be really mad at me for coming here then?” Smokescreen asked hopefully, a hint of his regular humor returning as he continued to relax. “You learned something you didn’t know before because of me!”

“I nearly had a spark attack because of you, you mean,” Prowl sighed. “Do you still promise not to tell anyone?”

“That you’re crazy and seeing things?”

“He is not!” Jazz said hotly, sending discordant notes skittering through the mosaics. “What do I have to do to convince him I’m real?”

“I think you already have,” Prowl answered him, watching Smokescreen’s reaction. “He asked what he had to do to prove he was real,” he told his cousin when he looked at him strangely.

“Oh, trust me, I believe this place is cursed. Or haunted,” he amended quickly. “And I already said I would keep your secret, so don’t worry on that score. But you have to admit, this is the  _ real  _ reason you don’t want anyone finding out about this place, isn’t it?”

Prowl rolled his optics as he helped Smokescreen to his feet. “Yes, of course it is. I do not wish to inform the library that this building exists until I have finished helping Jazz find the answers he seeks.”

“Yeah? Like what?” Smokescreen’s expression turned sly. “Something in the family history, perhaps?”

“You could say that,” Prowl said, debating whether or not to show him. Obviously Smokescreen hadn’t gone around to look at all the names while he was trying to run away from Jazz.

His mind was made up for him by Jazz. “Would he know what happened to him?” the ghost asked from his window. “Could he help you find out what they did to him?”

“It said something again, didn’t it?” Smokescreen dared to look at the pane where Jazz was standing, though his optics were fixed on a point about a foot above his helm. “What is it?”

“ _He,_ ” Prowl said, laying emphasis on the word, “asked if you would do more than keep our secret. He wants to know if you will help me unravel the mystery of what happened to a friend of his.”

“Sure?” Smokescreen said uncertainly. “I mean, I can’t promise anything, but I can try. Who are you looking for?”

Prowl smiled. “You probably have not heard of him,” he said lightly, flicking a door wing at Jazz when he heard the ghost snicker. “The family seems to have done their best to eradicate any trace of him in the historical record, though I have a few leads I am currently pursuing.”

“You do? Does that mean you found a better keyword?”

“In a moment, Jazz.” Prowl led Smokescreen over to a very specific column, gesturing to the sigil bearing his name. “We are trying to determine what became of the young heir to the house: Lord Prowl.”

“Excuse me, Lord what now?” Smokescreen stared at Prowl as though he’d sprouted an extra set of tires, then turned to the column. “Holy—!” He jumped back like the plaque had bitten him. His helm whipped back and forth between Prowl and the name on the column while Jazz laughed merrily behind them. “You didn’t just put this here to screw with me, did you?”

“It is original to the building; see for yourself,” Prowl replied. He had to admit, this was sort of fun. As annoyed as he had been to find out that Smokescreen had decided to investigate for himself, he had a point about potentially being helpful — and he was most definitely amusing.

“This is insane! You realize that, right?” Smokescreen waved around them, encompassing the whole of the chapel. “This whole thing is insane! Artifacts, ghosts, secret family histories; you wouldn’t be able to pry Barricade out of here with an entire constructicon team!”

“If he knew about it, which he does and will not,” Prowl reminded him. “So? Are you interested in helping us?”

“Pleeeease say yes,” Jazz begged ineffectually from yet another window, making Smokescreen’s door wings twitch even though he couldn’t understand what had been said.

“Part of my processor’s saying to get out while the getting is good,” Smokescreen said slowly as a grin crept across his face. “But you know me! I’m far too curious to leave well enough alone. Tell me everything.”

***

It hadn’t taken too long to get Smokescreen up to speed on their research projects. The hardest part had been explaining what had happened with Wheeljack, since Jazz had kept asking questions Smokescreen couldn’t hear. That had complicated the conversation a bit, but eventually everyone was on the same page.

Jazz had been excited at first by the possibility of being able to leave the chapel again. He agreed there was a chance that it could work, but it would absolutely have to be the exact same type of crystal, and preferably even from the same cutting the chapel crystal had been grown from. He had tried to work through all of the many, many different crystals in the garden over the millennia with no success, and it wasn’t very likely that none of them had been of the ghost-reactive variety. They guessed it might be a factor of his being bound to the crystal itself rather than some other object; Wheeljack would probably have something to say about the matter.

The difficulty was that the rainbow crystal had apparently been a rare species even back when the chapel was built. That had been the reason for the family choosing it in the first place: all the better to flaunt their wealth and power. Jazz wasn’t overly optimistic about Prowl’s chances of finding one, or of being able to afford it if he did. Smokescreen hadn’t been able to offer much input, other than promising to make some discreet inquiries with a few of his business contacts.

Much more promising was Prowl’s idea to look for stories about a ‘lost prince’ rather than a ‘hidden prince’. Smokescreen had perked up as soon as Prowl mentioned it. He confirmed that there was an old folktale about a lost prince, a story he had heard once a long time ago. The problem was that he remembered it existed, but not how the story went.

Jazz had practically chased them  _ both  _ out to go find it right away, which was just as well since the library had been about to close. Since they couldn’t do any looking at that point, Prowl had gone home with Smokescreen, where they stayed up the rest of the time they were supposed to be using to prepare for the audit talking about ghosts.

Prowl was grateful that Smokescreen had taken everything so well, after the experience he’d had. He was fairly sure, after getting a full account from his cousin without Jazz there interrupting, that the ghost had accidentally overwhelmed Smokescreen’s sensory suite in his excitement over having someone new to talk to. That had made Smokescreen even more vulnerable to the illusion created by the chapel, and Jazz’s attempts to help had only served to throw him further off-balance.

Not understanding what was happening had been the worst part, according to Smokescreen. Once he had an explanation — incredible as it was — he adapted remarkably well. He had been looking forward to seeing what he could find out when Prowl left, and very much wanted to meet Wheeljack the next time Prowl saw him.

That wasn’t something Prowl was exactly looking forward to himself, although Wheeljack calling as promised the next day meant that it was pretty much inevitable. Prowl begged off on account of his class schedule for the next couple of days, but the ghost-obsessed researcher wouldn’t let him go until he’d agreed to a meeting in the park in three days.

He contemplated just telling Smokescreen to go in his place. Wheeljack made Prowl nervous. As much as he might know about ghosts, Prowl had felt on edge in his presence. Although maybe it would be better as long as they weren’t in that RV… 

Prowl pushed the thought aside. There was time still to decide who would meet with Wheeljack, and right now he had other things to focus on — like the lecture he was in, for starters. And as soon as class was over, he was going straight back to the library and looking for the story of the lost prince.

His search took him over by the reading corner of the library, a space set up with several chairs and cushions where mechs could sit and read without checking anything out. Prowl preferred to read out in the garden, but he made use of it sometimes on days when the weather was bad.

Today the corner was unusually crowded; several mechs were all gathered around an old teal-gray mech that Prowl had seen around the library from time to time, listening to him read. At least, Prowl had assumed he was reading to them. Upon closer inspection, he didn’t appear to have a datapad in his hands. He was simply telling stories out of his head.

“Come sit with us,” the mech hailed him when he spotted him looking. “You’re Prowl, aren’t you? I hear you spend a lot of time here, just like me.”

Prowl hesitated, wanting to keep walking but also not wanting to be rude. “I am a law student,” he said by way of explanation. “The library is an excellent resource.”

“That it is,” the mech smiled. “I’m Kup. I like to come here and pass along old stories to my adoring fans.” The mechs gathered around him laughed quietly at that, and he laughed with them. “Why don’t you join us for a tale?”

“Thank you for your offer, but I have work to do.”

“Really now? What’s there of interest to a law student in the folklore and mythology section?” Prowl frowned, but Kup kept talking. “Whatever story you’re looking for, come over here and let me tell you the  _ real  _ story, the one you won’t find in the books.”

“He really does know a lot of stories that aren’t in the books,” one of the others on the cushions spoke up, a young red and silver Praxian. “And he knows hundreds of them! We keep trying to find one he doesn’t know and we haven’t managed to stump him yet.”

“Really?” Prowl still didn’t move from where he had stopped, but he did turn more fully to face the group. “Do you know the story of the lost prince?”

“By many names!” Kup answered. “The Lost Prince, The Prince that Time Forgot, The Prince who was Erased. It’s the tale of a young noble who disappeared suddenly from the annals of history — but the people remembered him!” There was a twinkle in the old mech’s optics. “Want to hear it?”

“I am not sure it is what I am looking for,” Prowl said, even as he came over to stand by the scattered cushions. 

“Then you’ll just have to listen and find out,” Kup laughed. “Go on and sit down. Now, this is an  _ old  _ story, older than any of you, or this library, or even me! And that’s saying something.” The others all chuckled at the familiar inside joke. “I’m going to tell you the oldest version I know, the one that dates all the way back to the time when Master Yoketron lived and taught in Praxus.”

Prowl sank down onto an open cushion, suddenly very interested to hear more. That was exactly the right time period for the story to potentially be about the historical Prowl!

“It starts with the lost prince, a young noble who was the heir to his house. He wasn’t like a lot of the other lords of his day, oh no! They were vain and cruel, small-minded and selfish, but the prince! Now there was a gentle spark. He was kind and compassionate, fair and just, and he promised to be a magnificent leader when he inherited his title. He was studying law and hoped to become a judge one day; kind of like you,” Kup said with a wink at Prowl.

“How do you…?” Prowl hadn’t said anything about that!

“That was a day the commoners all looked forward to eagerly, but the noble elders all feared. They didn’t want the prince to judge _them,_ ” Kup said, talking over Prowl, “because they knew he wouldn’t cater to them because of their titles. You see, the prince didn’t care what a mech’s status was, which, in those days, was a pretty big deal! Nobles didn’t associate with commoners, and they never took their side in a dispute. But the prince did. He would spend time talking to the regular folk, listening to them, standing up for them — and that was how the nobles trapped him.”

Prowl felt the same chill that had come over him in the chapel sinking its claws into him again. He tightened his plating down against it, but it made no difference; he still felt cold, afraid of what he knew was coming.

“The lord of the house waited until he could corner the prince in a clandestine meeting with a foreign servant, then sprang the guard on him. He called the servant a spy! He had his own heir arrested and accused him of sedition and treason. And the young prince was convicted, of course he was! The judges were all nobles who didn’t want him go free. So they cast him out and had him dragged from the city. They stripped him of his title, rank, and name even as they ripped his armor from his frame and threw him out into the wastes to gray.”

The words felt like physical blows to Prowl, each one making him flatten his plating down closer and closer against his protoform. It was him, it had to be! Everything fit! But it was all so horrible; how could he ever tell this to Jazz?

“Then they forgot about him, as actively and aggressively as you can forget anyone,” Kup continued. “They forbade anyone to speak of him on pain of death, and took great pleasure in enforcing that decree. His name was destroyed wherever they found it in carvings and settings and print, and they altered or destroyed every record that had any mention of him. It was a very successful campaign — soon he disappeared entirely from the minds of the nobility.”

“But the people didn’t forget him,” the red and silver Praxian interrupted. “Did they? They couldn’t have just forgotten about him after he was so kind to them. Right?”

“Well of course they didn’t! How else would we have the story, hmm? I told you at the start the people remembered him!” Kup reached out to tweak the mech’s chevron. “Maybe you’re the one who needs to work on remembering!” They all laughed again, but Prowl couldn’t find it in him to join in. “After the nobles went back up to their castles, the common folk went out to the wastes and brought him in again. They patched him up and found him new armor, and they hid him away from anyone who wanted to do him harm.”

“He lived then?” Prowl asked, forcing his hands to relax their grip on the cushion beneath him. “In the earliest version of the story, he lives?” That mattered more than what might happen in later versions. Stories changed over time, evolving as their tellers needed them to. Even Yoketron had changed this one, altering details to suit his purposes. But the earliest versions would be the ones closest to the historical truth.

“In this version? Yeah,” Kup nodded as though he understood what Prowl was getting at. “There’s other variations, differences in how his trial was conducted and what became of him after, that kind of thing. Not all of which end well, I can tell you! But in the  _ original _ story, he lives.”

Prowl felt a weight lift from his spark. “What happened to him, after the people took him in?”

“He was a while recovering as they nursed him back to health. It was a whole year before he could walk again! But even once he was completely well, he refused to take a new name to replace the one he’d lost. He didn’t need a name any more than he needed a title to help people, he said. And that’s what he tried to do — live a quiet life helping those around him. Fate had other things in store for him of course, but that,” he said, holding up his hand, “is another story for another time.”

“But he lived that life alone,” Prowl said, standing quickly from his spot on the floor. He had heard enough. There was his answer, though he still needed the written story to compare with the old mech’s tale. He needed something to show Jazz.

“Now that’s true,” Kup agreed, watching as Prowl made to leave. “He was a solitary mech, much like Master Yoketron. Makes sense, if you believe the versions of the tale that say he studied under the sage when he was still a noble.”

Or perhaps there had been another reason. Perhaps he had already lost the one he wanted to be with. 

“I appreciate you telling me the story,” Prowl thanked Kup, his voice a little stiffer than he meant for it to be. He hadn’t anticipated his strong reaction to just hearing a story. “I really should be getting back to my research now.”

“Fourth shelf,” Kup called after him. “If you’re looking for a hard copy, it’s on the fourth shelf in the second aisle!”

Prowl fled into the stacks, turning a corner past the row he needed so as to get out of sight. He still felt cold, and yet his HUD was pinging him a warning to open his vents before he overheated. Prowl unclenched his armor and drew in a deep vent, holding it in before blowing out harshly. Once, then again, he cycled the air and tried to dispel the strange feeling that had come over him.

As soon as he’d composed himself, he snuck back to grab the datapad from the shelf (right where Kup had said it would be) and retreated with it out into the garden. He and Jazz could read it together.


	7. Chapter 7

“Wait a minute, how can you be sure he survived if half of these stories say he died?”

“Because in the earliest versions, before the story had so obviously drifted away from the truth, he lived.” Prowl looked up from where he was reading to meet Jazz’s visor. They were sitting face to face at one of the windows with Prowl holding the anthology of folktales turned toward Jazz so he could see the display. Prowl was reading from the reflection in the crystal, which the ghost was manipulating so it appeared normally instead of reversed. 

It was an arrangement that had taken some getting used to, but Prowl preferred it to sitting with his back to Jazz so he could read over his shoulder. This way he could see both the text and Jazz, and it was more comfortable than laying the datapad on the floor and trying to find a position where they could both see it easily. 

“He lived, Jazz,” Prowl repeated. “Lord Obduras failed to successfully execute Prowl.”

“He still hurt him so much he probably wished he had,” Jazz said sadly, unable to meet Prowl’s optics for long. He looked away, his expression sorrowful. “Enough that by the time he could even think about coming back for me, I was long gone.”

“Which devastated him.” Prowl reached around the side of the datapad and scrolled to another passage. “Several of these iterations say he was withdrawn and solitary, for all that he remained kind and generous. He gave of his spark to everyone, but he never let anyone into it again.”

“Great. So he lived, but I still ruined his life.” The image of the datapad suddenly flipped back to being mirrored as Jazz stopped altering it. He sank down into the floor to perch miserably in the reflection of the vaulted ceiling there.

Prowl shut off the datapad and put it away. “Jazz, the entire thing was a horrible tragedy, one that  _ neither  _ of you are to blame for!” Though even as he said it, Prowl felt an an oddly personal surge of guilt. “There was more going on than you knew. The elders were looking for an excuse,  _ any  _ excuse, to get rid of him. It was only a matter of time before they found something to use against him. The fact that it was you was purely coincidental. His fate was already sealed; you were just collateral damage.” Prowl felt his spark constrict painfully. “He got you killed and trapped here,” he whispered.

“No!” Jazz uncurled from the corner he’d fled to, drifting up to the underside of the floor to lay his hand on the shoulder of Prowl’s reflection beside his bowed helm. His arm was trembling as though he wanted to shake him, but of course Prowl felt nothing. “He did  _ not! _ I chose to spend time with him, knowing it could be dangerous for me if anyone found out, and I’m the one who chose to foolishly stick around this place when I died. That burden’s on me, not him.”

“But you chose to stay because of a promise he failed to keep.” Prowl rose to his knees and stood, pushing away from Jazz. “If not for that, you could have been at peace.”

“How many times do I have to tell you being dead doesn’t bother me?” Jazz pounded a fist soundlessly against the polished floor. “It was a promise he  _ couldn’t  _ keep! I knew he might never be able to come for me when I decided to wait, and I did it anyway.”

“You keep saying it, but I do not believe it. Can you really tell me you never felt abandoned? Forgotten? Betrayed?” Prowl hated himself for the words, but he couldn’t seem to stop them. “That you never hated him for what he did to you?”

“Of course I felt abandoned!” Jazz shouted. “I hated what happened to me! I felt lost and alone and all kinds of done wrong by! But I never.  _ Once.  _ Blamed. Prowl!”

The emotion in Jazz’s voice shook the crystal windows, reverberating through the air raw and rough and slightly off-key. Prowl felt like he was standing inside a ringing bell as Jazz built it into a crescendo, feeding power and sound into his exclamation until the dissonance evaporated. A new chord sang back, pure and clear from every plane and facet of the chapel. It banished his reflection, but Prowl knew Jazz wasn’t gone. When he turned around there he was beside him, as seemingly solid as the song could make him.

“I never blamed him,” Jazz repeated, taking a step closer to Prowl, “and I never hated him.”

Prowl found himself struggling to speak through something he didn’t fully understand. He stood frozen as a question slowly bubbled its way up, coming from some place far away and deep inside. “Why?” he asked softly. “Why didn’t you?”

“Because I forgave him,” Jazz answered simply, taking another step forward. He raised a hand, reaching up toward Prowl’s face. “I—”

“Hey! Prowl, are you in there? You’re not answering your comm again!”

Smokescreen’s voice shattered the moment, cutting into the chord sustaining Jazz. The ghost’s steps faltered and he struggled to hold himself together, fading rapidly as the other Praxian emerged from the hedge.

Prowl shook his helm, attempting to clear it. “Smokescreen? Why are you—”

“I told you, you weren’t answering my calls so I thought I’d swing by to see if you were here. I wouldn’t have bothered you, but I figured you’d want to know right away. It’s kind of important. And, may I add,” he said with a nervous twitch of his door wings, “not my fault.”

“Great. What’s he done now?” Jazz asked, crossing his arms in front of him. He was still three dimensional, but now quite transparent. It wouldn’t be long before he was trapped again behind the crystal glass.

Smokescreen paused in front of the open window, eying the space where Jazz was standing curiously. “What was that?”

Could Smokescreen see Jazz like this, Prowl wondered? “What did it look like?” 

“Sort of like a heat mirage.” Smokescreen’s optics cycled as he refocused and carefully angled his sensory panels. “It didn’t look like a mech, if that’s what you’re wondering. And it’s gone now,” he reported.

Apparently not. Jazz continued to pale as he pouted. “I’m still here,” he mumbled grumpily.

“I know you are,” Prowl assured him. “I am not going to forget just because he cannot see you.”

“You realize it’s funny watching you talk to yourself like that, don’t you?”

“He is NOT talking to himself!” Jazz’s sharp retort sent an ominous hollow chime through the chapel. The crystal took on a darker hue, becoming more opaque as the ghost blinked out of Prowl’s sight.

“Eek!” Smokescreen jumped back a pace from the building.

“Smokescreen, stop antagonizing Jazz; Jazz, stop scaring Smokescreen.” Prowl glared at his cousin before looking around the slowly lightening chapel for Jazz. He spotted him after a couple of seconds, casually leaning against the side of the window right by the missing pane only a few paces away from the oblivious Smokescreen.

Jazz made a face when he saw Prowl looking at him and mimed clawed hands reaching out in a strangling motion. Prowl was torn between letting out an exasperated sigh or a snort of laughter. 

He managed to contain both. “Enough,” he said, not caring which of the two either of them thought that was addressed to before turning to Smokescreen. “You said you had something important to tell me?”

“I did! I do,” Smokescreen nodded. “Which do you want first, the good news, or the bad news?”

“There’s both? Fantastic.”

“I couldn’t hear that,” Smokescreen said cheerfully at the subtle shifting colors that were all he could detect when Jazz spoke. “He’s being snarky again, isn’t he?”

“I asked you to stop antagonizing him,” Prowl said sternly.

“Fine, fine. Sorry Jazz,” Smokescreen said, waving the apology in the wrong direction before dropping the teasing tone. “Okay, I’ll mix it up — first, good news: one of the mechs I reached out to about tracking down a crystal got back to me saying he had a piece. Bad news: he just sold it. Good news: he was willing to give me the buyer’s name. Bad news: the buyer was Barricade.”

“Fantastic,” Prowl groaned. 

“Barricade, as in, your brother?” Jazz asked curiously. “Why’s that bad?”

“I cannot ask him about it without him wanting to know the reason for my interest. I would have to come up with some kind of explanation that does not involve this place, though in any case he is not likely to be willing to sell it.”

“You don’t have to tell me that,” Smokescreen said, “though I suppose you weren’t really telling  _ me,  _ were you?”

“No.” Prowl pointed to the window next to where Smokescreen was still lingering just outside. “I was telling him.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Smokescreen shrugged, then surprisingly turning to face the window to keep talking. “In case Prowl hasn’t told you, his brother collects antiques.  _ Obsessively  _ collects antiques, which Prowl’s never taken any interest in before. He almost never sells his pieces, especially not one he just acquired. And he won’t sell to an amateur like Prowl. Not without a ton of questions we’d really rather he didn’t ask, anyway.” 

“But I thought you were looking for crystals.” Smokescreen hadn’t quite been looking at Jazz’s face. The ghost floated up and slightly to the left to ‘meet’ his optics, even though Smokescreen couldn’t see it. “What’s that got to do with antiques?”

“He asked what the connection is between buying crystals and antiques,” Prowl relayed, wondering how many times Jazz had done this before — for his own sanity pretended others could see and hear him. At least this time, Prowl could make sure the conversation going on around him actually included him. “There is only one reason I can think of for Barricade to have purchased it in the first place. Am I correct in assuming the crystal is part of something larger?”

“You guessed it; the center stone in a piece of old jewelry.” Smokescreen sent Prowl an image file with a couple different views of the piece. “Here’s what my dealer sent me. He wouldn’t say what the final price tag was, but looking at it I’d estimate that it didn’t come cheap.”

Prowl pulled a datapad out and loaded the pictures so that Jazz could see them as well. “What do you think?” he asked him, angling the display toward the window. “You know crystal better than I do.”

Jazz motioned for him to come closer. Prowl obliged. “Primus! I only ever saw the elders or visiting lords wearing stuff like this!” he said once he was able to get a good look. It was difficult to accurately determine the size of the piece from the photos, but the circular brooch or pin contained several bismuth highlights that complimented the rainbows of the crystal in an embossed iridium setting. All expensive components, and fine craftsmanship on top of that. “Smokey’s right, that would have cost your brother a small fortune!” He looked up at Prowl, distressed. “There’s no way you can afford that.”

“‘Smokey’?”

“Hey! Is he mangling my name?”

“Tell him I’ll stop if he tells you you’re crazy!”

“I am not crazy.”

“That’s debatable,” Smokescreen chuckled. “I mean, you are standing here telling a  _ ghost  _ that you’re not crazy.” 

“A ghost you were talking to as well,” Prowl countered. He put the datapad away. “He does not think I should spend that much money.”

“Not shouldn’t,  _ can’t! _ ” 

Prowl let that go without comment. He might not have the most abundant of resources, but he wasn’t going to let a little thing like money, or a lack of it, stop him. “Is that the only lead you have?” he asked Smokescreen.

“‘Fraid so,” Smokescreen answered. “Most of the responses I got were variations on, ‘That’s really hard to come by and I don’t have any right now’. A couple of my contacts suggested I try collectors, auction houses and antique shops. Apparently those are the places it’s most likely to turn up.”

That made a sort of sense, given how long ago the crystal had last been available in any sort of quantity. It also meant that the best place for Prowl to start was still his brother.

The look on Smokescreen’s face said he’d worked that out too. “You might as well talk to him,” he said with an apologetic tilt of his door wings. “Word’ll get back to him we’re looking anyway. One of his connections will wind up passing it along to let him know about the potential competition.”

That was true enough, and it was part of why Prowl had been happy to let Smokescreen be the one to make the initial inquiries. He would have preferred to leave his name out of the whole thing, but if they were going to have to deal with Barricade regardless, then Prowl would have better luck with him than Smokescreen.

“Maybe he’ll have a another piece?” Jazz’s question drew Prowl’s attention back to him. “One that isn’t so expensive?”

“He might have more than one piece, yes,” Prowl acknowledged, “and he might be willing to consider something other than money as payment as well.” 

“You mean like a trade of some kind?” Jazz perked up at the idea. “That would be good!”

“I am not sure about good, necessarily.” Prowl had always turned him down when Barricade had asked favors of him in the past. They weren’t the sorts of things he liked to do, and his brother had never had anything he wanted in return — until now. “But it may be worth it this time.”

“Careful!” Smokescreen cautioned. He’d heard Prowl talk about the things his brother had asked him to do on multiple occasions, and as such was perfectly familiar with the kinds of favors Barricade was likely to ask in trade. At least Smokescreen knew better than to try to get Prowl to do anything illegal; among other various ‘minor’ requests, Barricade had asked Prowl to notarize signatures he hadn’t witnessed, backdate legal documents, and break into a confidential closed case on one of his clients for him. “If he senses desperation he’ll make you wish you’d just offered to buy it.”

“And it would make him curious.” Jazz might be worried about the money, but Prowl was worried about Barricade finding out what he wanted the crystal for. “What can I say that will explain my desire for the crystal without catching his interest?”

“Wheeljack said it has scientific uses, right? Maybe you could say someone at the academy was looking for some,” Smokescreen suggested. “It’s not like he’ll be expecting a lot of detail. You two don’t exactly talk much.”

“We do not usually have much to talk about.” As different as their views were, talks between Prowl and his brother were prone to devolve into arguments — the kind that just went in circles. At least the kind of arguing he would be doing as a lawyer would be the sort he could win. “I suppose there is no point putting it off then,” Prowl said reluctantly.

“Not really.” Smokescreen waved at Prowl to follow him. “Come on, I’ll drive with you. I’ve got something I need to drop off with him anyway, and that gives you an excuse to just ‘happen to be there’ and ask on your ‘friend’s’ behalf.”

“You’re going then?” Jazz asked, his shoulders slumping dejectedly.

“For now, yes.” Prowl stepped outside, turning back to look at him as Smokescreen started making his way back through the hedge. 

“Can’t you stay a little longer?” Jazz had already turned to face him, hands pressed against the window like always whenever Prowl left.

Prowl reached up to place his hands over Jazz’s. “I will come back,” he told the ghost, voice thick with emotion. “And if this works?” He curled his hands slightly, as though he could weave their fingers together through the crystal. “Next time you will be able to come with me.”

***

Where Smokescreen had gone into business, and Prowl into law, Barricade had gone into finance. His career had taken off quickly after a good start with a couple of lucky deals, and he was doing quite well for himself. His offices were in a very nice upscale building in downtown Praxus, and it didn’t take too long for Prowl and Smokescreen to arrive.

“I called ahead and said I was stopping by,” Smokescreen said as they transformed and walked up to the doors and into the lobby. “Didn’t mention you were with me though, so he’s not expecting you.”

“He will be.” Prowl nodded toward the reception desk. “We have to check in before going upstairs.”

“Maybe they won’t tell him?”

“It does not really matter.” Prowl was indifferent to whether he was expected or not. It wouldn’t make any difference to their conversation. “I would just like to get this over with.”

“As if he’ll let you escape that easily once he’s cornered you,” Smokescreen laughed. “Don’t expect me to stick around to rescue you!”

Prowl might have felt tricked as they signed the log and headed over to the elevators, but the truth was things would probably go more smoothly without Smokescreen there. 

“I can make my own escape, thank you,” was all he said.

Barricade was waiting for them as soon as they arrived. Evidently the front desk had called up after all. “Smokescreen, Prowl, so good to see the both of you,” he said pleasantly. “You’ve caught me a little bit off guard. I wasn’t expecting you today.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not here to disrupt your busy schedule!” Smokescreen smiled charmingly as he retrieved a small package from his subspace. “I’m just a deliverymech today. I believe this is yours?”

Prowl glanced at the label as the package exchanged hands. Whatever it was, it had come from Uraya. Judging by the size, it was probably either another piece for the collection, or another office ornament. Barricade liked impressing on his clients just how wealthy and successful he was. The whole suite was richly appointed, particularly the inner office, which Prowl had only seen a few times. It went far beyond what Prowl would have considered tasteful, but then, it wasn’t his place to dictate the decor.

“It is, and I’ve been looking forward to seeing it!” Barricade turned to Prowl. “And what about you? Are you delivering something too?” 

“After a fashion,” Prowl answered. “I was with Smokescreen when he said he needed to stop by, and I had a question it occurred might be worth asking you.”

“By all means then.” Barricade gestured toward his office. “Come in while I find a place to put my latest acquisition.” 

Office ornament it was then. Prowl nodded and preceded his brother across the waiting room, while Smokescreen slid over to the door. 

“I can’t stay, so I’ll leave you two to chat,” he said cheekily. “You’ll have to show me how it looks later!”

Barricade watched the door shut behind him almost suspiciously. “He’s in more of a hurry than usual today,” he remarked.

“I think he was hoping to escape me,” Prowl said blandly, as he entered his brother’s inner office. It was worse than he remembered. “I have been helping him get ready for an audit, but he has been lax in his preparations.”

That earned a chuckle from the older sibling. “He does like to procrastinate, doesn’t he?”

“One of these days it will get him in trouble.”

“I don’t doubt it. But you’ll be there to get him out of it, won’t you?”

“Not if he deserves it.”

Barricade laughed again. “I see you still haven’t relaxed your standards. It’s impressive that you manage to keep them, given your chosen field.” He set the box down on his desk, a lavish imported affair with intricate inlays. The surface was largely clear, save the few decorative pieces already sitting there. It didn’t look like there was room for another, but then, there were several shelves around the room. Perhaps one of them was meant to accommodate the new piece. There was still some space left among the archival quality datapads and other objects of interest on display, some of which were quite large. One new geometric sculpture in matte white marble that Prowl hadn’t seen before took up an entire shelf.

“So?” Unwrapping the box and opening it revealed another box; Barricade lifted it out of the packing material it was nested in carefully and held it up to examine it. “What do you think?” he asked, showing it to Prowl as well. “It’s mid-classical period, hand carved from the tooth of a giant cybercat. Undamaged and  _ with  _ the lid, not easy to find these days.”

“I am sure.” It was a very delicate piece, and Prowl was impressed in spite of himself. The sculptor had managed to carve layers of designs into the once-living metal, three in total, the innermost of which could only partially be seen through the cutouts in the outer shells. Barricade had said there was a lid, but Prowl could not see where one would lift away. However it detached, it was quite cleverly hidden. “It is lovely. What was it used for?”

“Incense. Certain solid compounds would be placed inside and the aroma allowed to permeate the room.” Barricade turned and placed the small box on an open spot on the cabinet behind his desk next to an ornate desktop armillary sphere, where it could easily be seen by anyone seated in front of it. “I’m using it for display purposes only, of course.”

“Of course.”

“But you didn’t come to see this,” Barricade said, sweeping the empty packaging into the trash beneath the desk. “What did you want to ask me?”

“Just a moment.” Prowl withdrew a datapad from his subspace and ran a quick image search for the rainbow crystal. “Here. I have an acquaintance at the Academy looking for a particular variety of crystal. Smokescreen mentioned a collector might be the best person to ask, so I thought I would start with you. Are you familiar with it?”

“I am,” Barricade said, a glint in his optics as he looked at the picture. “I recently purchased a cloak pin with this exact type of crystal in the setting.” He looked up at Prowl. “It’s not an easy one to come by, though I’m fortunate enough to have a couple pieces in my collection.”

“Any you would be willing to part with?” Prowl asked, careful not to let the question jump out of his mouth too quickly.

“For the right price,” Barricade replied. “Is your acquaintance aware of what this usually goes for?”

“Yes.” Now came the tricky part, but Barricade’s jab about his standards had given Prowl an idea. “Perhaps I could do something for you in exchange for it? It would be of great benefit to me if I could be the one to bring it to him.”

Barricade regarded Prowl with surprise. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say that almost sounded like a bribe!”

Prowl forced his door wings to drop back, simulating embarrassment, rather than flaring out indignantly like they were trying to do. “I would not be giving it to him, nor would there be any expectation of reciprocal favor. I would merely let him know that I knew of his interest in the crystal, and that I had one I would be willing to part with for a reasonable price. That is not a bribe.”

“Sure,” Barricade grinned. “And when you let him have it at a discounted rate? He’s going to owe you.”

“If he  _ thinks  _ he owes me, then that is entirely his affair.”

Barricade gave Prowl a scrutinizing look. Prowl tried not to look suspicious. Pretending he was going to say just enough for someone to assume what he wanted them to already made him feel uncomfortable. It left a really bad taste in his mouth to be doing precisely that with Barricade in reality. But even if he couldn’t pay for the crystal, he meant to give fair trade for it, and it wasn’t illegal to mislead his brother.

A long moment of silence dragged out between them, long enough that Prowl started to worry. Then, finally, Barricade said, “Let me get this straight. You want me to sell you a rare crystal — excuse me,  _ give  _ you a rare crystal in exchange for a favor — so you can turn around and undersell it in the hopes of garnering preferential treatment or special consideration in the future.”

That was the lie. Prowl didn’t confirm or deny it. Would his brother believe it?

“All right then,” Barricade said with a dangerous grin. “I’m sure I can come up with something for you to do for me that you won’t find  _ too  _ objectionable. Deal?”

Prowl swallowed nervously. “Deal.”


	8. Chapter 8

Three days after agreeing to an unspecified doom of his brother’s choosing, Prowl was on his way to meet with Wheeljack for a second time. He had decided against sending Smokescreen in his stead, or bringing his cousin with him despite his multiple requests. He was alone with his thoughts on the drive to their designated meeting place at the park.

He’d been trying not to worry about what Barricade would ask of him in exchange for one of the crystal pieces from his collection. Barricade had told Prowl that he would let him know when he came up with something suitable, but he hadn’t been in contact since. Not knowing what to expect, or when to expect it, gave Prowl plenty of time to regret his decision. Reminding himself what was at stake was the only thing that kept him from calling his brother and backing out.

He needed to do this for Jazz.

When Prowl had let the ghost know how the talk in the office had gone, Jazz had insisted he didn’t want Prowl compromising himself for his sake. Prowl hadn’t promised anything; there was always the possibility it wouldn’t be that bad. It wasn’t  _ likely,  _ knowing Barricade, but Prowl didn’t want to draw a hard line on what he would and would not do before he knew what the favor was  — other than not being willing to break the law.

Telling himself it wasn’t productive to worry about it didn’t stop his processor from going over as many hypothetical requests as he could think of, however. Prowl was hoping that Wheeljack could provide a distraction to break the cycle, at least for a little while.

He needn’t have worried on that score. No sooner had Prowl transformed and walked into the park when the mech sprang out from behind a bench, accosting him again with his Ghost Detector.

“There you are!!” he whooped triumphantly, blocking the path. “I got you, you  — oh, isn’t that funny? It’s still doing it.” Wheeljack tapped the blinking, beeping contraption in his hands before shrugging and clipping it magnetically to his side. “Sorry, I thought you were a ghost.”

Successfully distracted, Prowl blinked at Wheeljack’s bright optics and happily flickering helm fins. “You thought I was a ghost? Again?”

“Well, my Ghost Detector did.” Wheeljack patted the device at his hip. “There  _ is _ something peculiar about you, you know.”

“Or perhaps something peculiar about your detector.” Prowl gave it a suspicious sideways look. “It is not going to attack me, is it?”

“Don’t be ridiculous! The Ghost Detector isn’t for attacking ghosts.  _ This _ is for attacking ghosts!” Wheeljack whipped out a long cylindrical metal object from his subspace and brandished it at the empty air. “Behold, the Wheeljack Anti-Ghost Whacker™! It doubles for beating off muggers.”

“…It’s a bat.”

“A bat with the name ‘Wheeljack’ on it,” the scientist corrected. He rotated it in his hands and sure enough, there it was spelled out in bold glyphs. “This beauty’s tried and true  — it’s had more successful field tests than any of my other inventions!”

Somehow Prowl managed to refrain from asking just what it had been successfully tested on. Personally, he was betting on the muggers. “Fascinating as that is,” he said, stepping back so he was out of range, “what I was really hoping you could tell me more about was crystals.”

“Right, that’s what we were talking about when you had to run out last time. Glad to hear your cousin was alright, by the way.” The bat disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, and Wheeljack motioned Prowl to walk with him. “Come on, let’s find a more comfortable spot.”

The didn’t go far, just enough that they were no longer right by the park’s entrance. “I told you before that some crystals are ghost-reactive and others aren’t, right?” Wheeljack asked as he directed them over to a large crystal statue. “This’s an example of one that isn’t.”

Nothing about the sculpture looked remarkable at all to Prowl. He’d seen smaller pieces of it scattered around the garden at the library, in fact. “What makes one crystal ghost-reactive and another non-reactive?”

“It’s in the crystal’s structure,” Wheeljack replied as though it were obvious. “Certain lattices allow for better conduction of ghost energy, similar to the way some metals are better conductors of electricity due to their molecular structure. Other scientists don’t recognize it as a real property, claiming it’s not quantifiable. Ha! What a joke!  _ I’ve  _ quantified it. But they won’t admit that my findings are genuine.”

“If your data is verified and reproducible, how can they discount it?”

“That’s just it! They say it  _ isn’t  _ verifiable.” Wheeljack laid a hand gently on the crystal. “They see the results, but they attribute them to the wrong causes. It takes highly sophisticated and specialized equipment to detect and record ghost energies, you know. I invented most of mine myself, but my contemporaries don’t understand how they work so they don’t trust them.”

Prowl didn’t understand how they  _ could  _ work based on what he’d seen so far, save perhaps the Anti-Ghost Whacker. It would be an impressive feat to have invented a nonfunctional stick. “So they write off your readings as equipment malfunctions,” he guessed.

“You did,” Wheeljack said pointedly, referring to Prowl’s earlier remark about the Ghost Detector.

Prowl felt a flush of embarrassed frustration. He had every right to think there was something wrong with a device that identified a living mech as a ghost! “I think we may be veering off topic,” he said, ignoring the jab as he attempted to redirect the conversation. “What I was really interested in was information about how ghosts are able to use crystals. How far away from its anchor can a ghost channel through one, for instance? Does the size of the crystal matter, or just the type? What if a ghost is only able to use a single variety?”

That was the other reason Prowl had wanted to talk to Wheeljack before Barricade got back to him  — if Jazz wouldn’t be able to use the crystal the way they were hoping, then it would be pointless to indebt himself to his brother. He would rather know now if that was the case, before it was too late. 

“Those’re some pretty specific questions,” Wheeljack’s optics narrowed speculatively, “and I get the feeling you’re asking about a pretty specific ghost, too. You’re going to have to trust me, or I won’t be able to help you. I can’t answer your questions accurately unless I know more about your ghost first.” His tone wasn’t accusing; if anything he sounded sympathetic. “I know it’s not an easy thing to talk about. But I promise,” he said, holding up his hand like he was taking an oath in court. “I will not think you’re crazy.”

That actually got a small chuckle out of Prowl. “It would be rather unfair if you did,” he said, relaxing a little. “I—”

“Please! Someone catch him!” A frantic cry from one of the other park-goers interrupted what Prowl had been about to say. He and Wheeljack both turned at the sound to see a small turbohound pelting toward them, snapped leash flying behind it. The owner held the other end in his desperately waving hand. “Stop him before he runs out into traffic!”

Prowl started to move forward, but Wheeljack held out an arm to restrain him. “Stand back!” The appearance of a remote control in his hand had Prowl tensing nervously and doing just that as Wheeljack pushed the button. A loud  _ thunk!  _ sounded from somewhere beyond the walls surrounding the park. Prowl watched as a familiar net came soaring, seemingly out of nowhere, in a perfect trajectory to intercept and entangle the turbohound.

“Woohoo! Victory goes to the Wheeljack Ghost Grappler™!” Wheeljack cheered, rushing over to the net on the ground.

“I thought you had to catch a ghost with it before you named it?” Prowl followed him cautiously. “This is just a dog.”

“It  _ looks  _ like a dog. But!” Wheeljack withdrew yet another object from his subspace, this time a pair of heavily modified goggles. Prowl thought he was going to put them on, but instead Wheeljack offered them to him. “Take a closer look.”

Taking the goggles carefully, Prowl held the lenses up to look through them. The turbohound didn’t change in appearance, but  — there! Floating about his head, there was was something! It looked like  —  Prowl jerked back in surprise, nearly losing his grip on the goggles.

“Do you see it? What does it look like?” The question came as Wheeljack was busy fighting with the net, trying to free the mechanimal from it without letting him escape completely. He was having difficulty managing it one handed while holding onto what remained of the leash.

This time better prepared, Prowl looked again. The small silver shape was the same as before, darting back and forth to ‘gnaw’ on the turbohound, the leash, and even Wheeljack’s hand with row upon row of razor-sharp spectral teeth. “A scraplet,” Prowl reported, stunned. “It looks like a scraplet.”

The turbohound’s owner reached them before Wheeljack could respond. “Thank you for catching him!” he exclaimed. “I don’t know what’s gotten into him, he’s never been like this. Here, let me help.” He took the leash from Wheeljack, who then was able to fold the net neatly back up.

Prowl watched the turbohound twitch and growl, shifting restlessly and even trying to bite his master. Through the goggles he could see the scraplet still flitting around, obviously responsible for the dog’s agitation. He kept trying to move away from it, lashing out whenever those teeth ‘latched on’ and started worrying at an ear.

“What is going on?” Prowl asked, lowering the goggles to stare in amazement at them. “What are these?”

“Those are my self-patented Wheeljack Ghost Goggles™!” Wheeljack answered predictably. “They make ghosts visible when you look through them.”

“I had assumed as much,” Prowl said drily while the other mech looked warily at the both of them.    


“A ghost? My dog is possessed by a ghost?”

“Not your dog,” Wheeljack said a bit absently, swapping the net out for his Ghost Detector. “The ghost is attached to something else  — this wouldn’t happen to be a new collar, would it?” he asked, waving the scanner at it as he spoke.

“I bought it yesterday. This is his first time wearing it.” The mech gasped as the detector started beeping. “Oh my! Is there something wrong with it?”

“Not once I take care of it!” Depositing the Ghost Detector abruptly in Prowl’s free hand, Wheeljack jumped up and ran for the park entrance. “Don’t go anywhere! I’ll be right back!”

Prowl and the owner exchanged bewildered glances while the turbohound continued to struggle and act out. “Does he know what he’s doing?” the mech asked, trying but failing to soothe the agitated mechanimal.

He started to reply in the negative, but the words stuck in Prowl’s vocalizer as he thought about it. “You know,” he said slowly, amazed at what he was saying, “I believe he actually might.”

Wheeljack didn’t keep them waiting very long. The clattering of slightly uneven wheels heralded his return along the path, pushing the strange wheeled cart from the RV he had called the Ghost Dispenser.

“Here we go!” he announced as he pulled up, setting some kind of parking brake with a loud squeal. The turbohound let out a yelp, though whether in response to the noise or the ghost scraplet  Prowl wasn’t sure. “Ghost Goggles, if you please!”

Prowl passed them over. He was quite glad he hadn’t tried putting them on himself; they made Wheeljack look ridiculous once he had them in place. Well —  _ more _ ridiculous _.  _ The blast mask and helm fins in combination with the goggles was truly a sight to behold.

“Aww, that’s not too bad, is it?” He knelt down and reached for the turbohound, who flinched and shuddered at first before relaxing and looking at Wheeljack curiously. Prowl couldn’t see it, but he suspected the scraplet was once again chewing on the scientist’s outstretched fingers instead of the dog. “You’re just a little thing. Let’s get you someplace more comfortable for the both of you.” He looked up at the owner. “I’m going to stand up and dispense a containment cube. When I do that, your dog will probably start getting twitchy again, but don’t worry. Just hold him firmly, remove the collar, and place it in the cube as soon as it’s ready. Can you do that for me?”

“…Yes?”

“Good mech!” 

Just as he’d predicted, the dog began fidgeting and growling again the instant Wheeljack stood up. The owner tried to shift so he could get a good grip to remove the collar, but Prowl saw he was having trouble.

“Please, allow me,” he offered, setting the detector aside to start working on the collar’s clasp.

“Thank you,” the mech said gratefully.

The turbohound was wiggling so much it was difficult to unfasten the collar. Prowl glanced over at Wheeljack, who was adjusting several dials on the cart. Once he had everything to his satisfaction, he pulled a lever on one side to trigger the device. A glowing blue cube slowly began to appear, growing in size until it was large enough to contain the collar — and the ghost attached to it. 

Wheeljack snatched it up the second it was done. “Alright, in she goes!”

Just in time, the collar came off in Prowl’s hands. He moved quickly to transfer it; he was unable to feel anything gnawing at his fingers, but he didn’t want to take any chances. The top of the cube sealed itself as soon as the collar hit the bottom, and the turbohound stopped growling like nothing had ever been wrong.

“He’s better!” the owner cried as his pet started wagging its tail happily. “That’s incredible! How did you know what was wrong?”

“It’s what I do,” Wheeljack said proudly. “I take care of ghosts so you don’t have to. Now, how much did this collar cost? I’m willing to pay you for it.”

“Oh no, please, keep it! It wasn’t expensive and you really helped us out. Didn’t he? Yes he did!” the mech said to the dog as he picked him up and cuddled him, laughing as he licked at his face. “Thank you so much.”

“You’re very welcome. May I?” At the mech’s nod, Wheeljack reached over to ruffle the dog’s ears. “There now. You be good, okay?”

The dog yipped happily, which had them both laughing. Prowl simply nodded when the mech thanked him again as well, then watched as he and his dog left together, once again content.

“How  _ did  _ you know what was wrong?” Prowl asked once they were gone. “You were not wearing the goggles when he came running toward us.”

“The Ghost Detector started vibrating as soon as the dog got close enough,” Wheeljack said with a shrug. “Helps that I’ve seen it before. Small scale domestic possession is more common than a lot of mechs realize, and often mechanimals are more sensitive to it than we are.”

“Could the turbohound see the scraplet then?”

“No, but he could feel it.” Wheeljack set the cube on the cart with the Ghost Dispenser and disengaged the parking brake with another  _ skreel _ of metal. “Want to help me get the little guy situated in the RV? Then we can talk about  _ your  _ ghost.”

“I… believe I will,” Prowl found himself nodding. “You are not going to hurt it, are you?”

Wheeljack lifted the goggles from his face to fix Prowl with a serious look. “I might capture ghosts for my research, but I don’t hurt them. I’ll keep this one for a little while, then sever the ties between it and the collar so it can move on safely without getting stuck somewhere else.”

So Wheeljack did know how to free a ghost so it could return to the Well. If nothing else then, at least Prowl would be able to do that much for Jazz. “I may need your help with something similar,” he said as they began walking together, “once he is ready.”

“He isn’t ready? I thought you said before he wanted to be free? Which…” Wheeljack paused, letting the cart roll to a stop. “How do you know that’s what he wants?”

Prowl stopped alongside him, confused. “He told me,” he said simply. “He is not a scraplet, he is a mech; or was, before he died. He talks perfectly well.” If with a slight accent.

“Wait, wait, timeout,” Wheeljack said hurriedly, excitement once again beginning to flicker in his helm fins. “Of course he can talk, but that’s not the point. You’re telling me you can hear him?  _ Unaided,  _ you can hear him?!”

“Yes,” Prowl admitted, his nerves making a reappearance — only this time he was worried for himself, not Jazz. “I can.”

Wheeljack’s field was positively ecstatic. “I  _ knew  _ there was something peculiar about you!”

***

It was late in the day when Prowl finally escaped Wheeljack’s obsessed clutches. Apparently it was incredibly odd that Prowl could see and hear Jazz. Most mechs couldn’t detect ghosts without at least minimal augmentation of some kind, and those few who could weren’t limited to a single ghost. But Prowl couldn’t see the scraplet without the Ghost Goggles. The whole thing had sent Wheeljack into a frenzy, asking a barrage of questions and trying to run an enormous battery of tests.

Prowl had answered as many questions as he could, but more often than not he didn’t know the answers. He had refused the tests, which Wheeljack had begrudgingly accepted after asking repeatedly if he was sure. There was something amazing going on, he insisted, a spectacular mystery that he wanted to be the one to solve!

There had been  _ one  _ test that Prowl had allowed, since it wasn’t at all invasive. Wheeljack had separated the lenses of the Ghost Goggles so that they each had one and watched the scraplet while asking Prowl to describe what it was doing, with and without using the other lens. He’d had absolutely no luck without it, forcing Wheeljack to concede that Prowl really couldn’t see it on his own. What he had been unable to determine was  _ why. _

He had begged Prowl at that point to show him his ghost so he could watch them interacting and compare observations, but they were too far away from the library and too close to closing to have anywhere near as much time as Prowl knew Wheeljack was going to want. He had steadfastly refused to reveal Jazz’s location in advance, only able to placate Wheeljack’s disappointment by promising that they would go to where the ghost was hidden next time.

It was lucky Jazz wanted someone to talk to, he thought as he made his way home at last. Wheeljack would certainly talk his audial off.

Unfortunately for both Jazz and Wheeljack, Prowl had an important test coming up that, due to all his non-school related activities, he was very behind in studying for. He stopped by the chapel just long enough to tell Jazz that he was still working on arranging a time to bring Wheeljack by and getting the crystal, but that he wouldn’t be able to visit for several days at least. The ghost had been saddened to hear it, but wished him luck on his exam.

He also set up an automated message to play whenever Wheeljack called ‘just to check in’ after his ninth call in a single morning. After half a dozen similar ‘status update’ calls from Smokescreen, Prowl put him on the auto-reply list as well, suggesting he use the time on audit prep and put together a list of everything he still needed from Prowl.

It frustrated him because he wanted to introduce everyone and spend time brainstorming together. Wheeljack had been distracted by wanting to know about Prowl’s strange ability, but Prowl had managed to get a little bit out of him regarding the crystals in spite of that. While he hadn’t initially been very optimistic — crystal made for a good channel, he said, but it wasn’t a material ghosts could use as a static anchor very well — his attitude had shifted when Prowl revealed that Jazz was already anchored in a large, immovable crystal. If Jazz was already used to holding his energies in crystal rather than just moving them through it, Wheeljack believed there was a good chance of a smaller crystal working for him as transportation. 

That meant the only call Prowl really wanted to receive now, if ‘want’ was the right word, was Barricade’s. They could always test with Wheeljack’s crystal if Prowl didn’t have one of his own by the time they were all able to meet, but he would prefer to have one he didn’t have to give back. That just wouldn’t be fair to Jazz.

So he waited to hear from his brother while he got caught up for Judge Camber, reviewed his lecture notes, and went over the materials that would be on the exam. In a way he was grateful for the amount of work. It kept his processor mostly too busy to worry.

It wasn’t until after the exam that Barricade called; almost immediately after, which had Prowl wondering if his brother had known about it. 

::I thought perhaps you might stop by my house this afternoon on your way home from the Academy,:: he began when Prowl answered, skipping over any sort of greeting. ::Something has presented itself that I’d like to discuss with you.::

::I was just on my way home now,:: Prowl replied. ::Would it be acceptable for me to arrive in half an hour?::

::Of course. I’ll see you shortly.::

The ‘house’, as Barricade called it, was really more of a small mansion. It was an old building, originally part of a larger noble estate formerly belonging to one of their distant relations. When Barricade had purchased it, it had been in such bad shape that it had been slated for demolition. He had acquired it rather cheaply as a result, though he’d poured a considerable amount of money into restoring it afterward. He said it was worth it, and for once Prowl was forced to agree. The house itself was truly magnificent… it was what was  _ in  _ the house he took issue with.

Barricade met him in the front foyer, a room fully as rich and lavish as his office. “Glad you could make it,” he said, motioning for Prowl to follow him into the library. “I’m sorry I kept you waiting, but I wanted to make sure I found something worth the price of the piece you asked for.”

“You said you had more than one, and I have not seen them to make a selection yet,” Prowl pointed out. “Perhaps I would be content with the least of them.”

“I expected you might be,” Barricade said with a slow smile. “All the same, I’ve brought them all out for you to see. If you would rather have one of the more expensive pieces, I’ll just have to consider asking for something in addition to what I was planning to propose.”

“That would only be fair,” Prowl allowed, though internally he winced at the thought. Barricade’s field was already thickly smug, confident that his request was something Prowl would find distasteful.

They passed by shelves with more archival datapads, scrolls, and tapestries depicting various segments of the great family tree project. At the far end of the room was a desk upon which rested four antiques — three Prowl hadn’t seen before, and the cloak pin from the photos. It was even more beautiful in person, and looked even more expensive.

“First tell me which of these you’d like,” Barricade said, standing to the side of the desk. Prowl noticed he made no effort to indicate the value of any of the pieces; Prowl didn’t know enough to assess them all perfectly, but he could tell that they weren’t arranged in order. His brother was hoping he would pick one of the pricier ones unwittingly so he would have him on the line for a larger favor. It was precisely the kind of underhanded dealing Prowl had long come to associate with him.

“May I handle them?” he asked, hesitating to just reach out and pick up any of them without permission.

“Of course,” Barricade replied. “By all means, examine them carefully and take your time. I’m in no rush.”

Prowl nodded and reached for the leftmost object. It weighed more than it appeared at first glance, and he suspected that its only purpose was to sit on a desk or shelf and be looked at. The stylized representation of the Helix Gardens was lovely, but the small crystals set in the gold-alloy base were very tiny indeed, and most of them not the elusive rainbow crystal Prowl needed. 

He watched Barricade discreetly as he set it down to take up the cloak pin next. There was a slight twitch, a minute widening of his smile, which Prowl knew corresponded to the pin being more expensive than the ornament. He held it for only a few seconds before putting it back. It was out of the question, and Prowl wasn’t going to let himself think about it.

The third piece was another ornament, this one meant to hang in a window to catch the sun. Five crystals, two of the rainbow, two of another, and one of a third were arranged in a delicate wire frame that allowed light to pass through it from either direction. It felt delicate, and Prowl set it down quickly too, worried about damaging it. At least that one would be easy to dismantle, if he selected it. But there was still one piece left.

Barricade’s slight disappointment was a mark in its favor as Prowl picked up the — whatever it was. It appeared to be another piece of jewelry, though there was visible soldering on the back as if part of it had broken off in the past. Damage would make it less valuable, though the size of the single crystal set in the center front meant it still wouldn’t be cheap. There was something about it though… 

“What was this?” he asked, unable to shake the strange feeling that he should recognize it somehow.

“That? A crest ornament.” Barricade reached up to tap the center of his chevron. “The backing’s gone now, but those would attach either with a clip or a magnet right here. They were once considered quite fashionable, but now of course most would find them ostentatious.” His look said clearly that he thought Prowl was one of those mechs.

He was right, and Prowl never would have chosen it if he intended to keep it for himself. But he didn’t. The point was to get a crystal for Jazz, and even though Prowl suspected the desk ornament was the least valuable of the lot,  _ this  _ felt like the right one.

“It does not matter what I think,” he told Barricade. “After all, it is not for me.” Conveniently his cover story had him getting rid of the crystal too. “Is the favor you had in mind sufficient for this piece? After all, it is damaged.”

“Not in a way that can’t be easily restored by a good jeweler, but yes.” Prowl picked up on a flash of annoyance from his brother, as though he’d been hoping Prowl wouldn’t think to leverage that. “And yes, the task I have in mind would cover it. Assuming you’re willing, that is.”

“I would prefer to hear it first,” Prowl said with a slight edge. He was not going to be tricked into agreeing to something without knowing precisely what he was agreeing to.

Again that tiny flicker of irritation. Prowl had to fight back a disgusted sigh. Why did every interaction with his brother have to be like this? The need for constant vigilance to avoid his traps was exhausting.

“What I want you to do,” Barricade continued smoothly, “is make a purchase for me. I’ll give you the money, don’t worry — all you have to do is go to the sellers and negotiate the deal.”

Prowl highly doubted that was ‘all’. “Why ask me? Why not do it yourself?”

“Because they don’t like me very much,” Barricade said with a bit of a chuckle. “Apparently I’m manipulative, conniving, and repugnant. They’ve said on multiple occasions that they won’t sell to me, but they just put a set of very rare antique armor on the market. If I’m going to add it to my collection, I need a third party — you — to buy it on my behalf.”

There it was. Prowl knew his brother would manage to come up with something he was morally against. “You want me to approach them under false pretenses, lie to them about my intentions, and purchase something they do not want you to have to give it to you?”

“At a good price, don’t forget. Just because I get the enjoyment of knowing I pulled one over on them doesn’t mean I care to part with any more money than I have to.” The smile on Barricade’s face was greedy and unpleasant. “So? What do you say? If you don’t think you can do it, I can always think of something else.”

The way he said it, ‘something else’ sounded like ‘something worse’. Prowl wasn’t sure he could do something worse; he wasn’t even sure he could do  _ this. _ He sympathized entirely with the reasons the sellers didn’t want to deal with Barricade. Tricking them like this would be a disgusting thing to do, nevermind that it wasn’t actually illegal. There was nothing stating that Prowl couldn’t purchase an item from someone and then turn around and resell it to someone else. It was sketchy to be using the money of the mech he would be ‘selling’ it to, but again, it didn’t technically break any laws.

Of course, they might suspect something like that given that Prowl and Barricade were brothers. That would mean assuring them he wasn’t going to do exactly what he meant to do. It would mean being as bad as Barricade, and he would be forever tarnished in their optics for it if, or more likely, when, they found out.

Would that matter in the long run? Prowl never planned to get into antiques himself, so losing the ability to deal with the sellers in the future himself was hardly an issue. But what about his hopes of being a judge someday? Would this damage his reputation? Would it cast a shadow of dishonesty over him from which he could never escape?

“Well?”

“One minute!” Prowl snapped, more sharply than he meant to. He saw Barricade’s satisfied grin, and in that moment he knew — whether he succeeded or not, his brother was looking forward to seeing him try. He wanted to see Prowl compromise his morals, to see if he was really capable of going through with his hypothetical bribe. There was no way to win this; if he accepted, then Barricade got what he wanted whether he ever got the armor or not, and if he refused, Barricade wouldn’t believe his story for wanting the crystal.

If Prowl refused, Barricade would want the truth. Not only would he not have the crystal for Jazz then, the one thing that might allow him the freedom to move about the world again and find the answers he needed to be at peace, but Prowl would have put him in danger as well.

He had no choice.

“I will do it,” Prowl said, feeling a heavy weight settle on him like chains. Primus help him. “I will do it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG check it out, PanDemiMayhem drew _and made a gif_ of Wheeljack wearing his [Ghost Goggles](http://pandemi-doodles.tumblr.com/post/150833109914/guess-what-i-drew-wheeljack-from-rizobacts)! I'm so blown away, this is fantastic. Thank you so much! <3


	9. Chapter 9

The address Barricade had given him was an art gallery, not an auction house. Prowl had been surprised at first, but the only feeling left now as he approached the building was dread. He didn’t know either of the owners — twins, his brother had informed him — but that didn’t make what he was here to do any easier.

It didn’t help that he’d been up most of the night, playing out multiple what-if scenarios and worrying about how it could all go horribly wrong. Prowl knew he should have been resting, but he couldn’t help it. What if they didn’t believe his story? What if they figured him out? If either of them called him out on the whole thing, would he be able to lie straight to their faces?

Not  _ wanting  _ to deceive them was what made it truly difficult. Prowl wasn’t the worst liar on Cybertron, but he wasn’t a very good one either when the lie in question involved more than omission or simple misdirection. The lie he’d told Barricade, hinting at wanting a crystal for a non-existent bribe, had been hard enough. Add in guilt and a bigger fear of failing, and Prowl wasn’t at all convinced that he would be, well,  _ convincing. _

At least this wouldn’t really affect his reputation as much as he had feared. After thinking it over more thoroughly, he realized that even if the gallery owners found out afterwards about the deception, the worst it would indicate was that he couldn’t be relied on to arbitrate fairly where his family was concerned. That was true anyway; judges weren’t allowed to rule on cases involving family precisely to avoid any personal biases from affecting the decision. 

There was almost a little bit of humor in the idea of mechs believing he was more likely to rule in Barricade’s favor than against him. Given Prowl’s dislike of his brother, the latter was considerably more likely. But bias was bias, and it was already assumed that where Barricade was concerned, Prowl was compromised. This would do nothing to make things worse in that regard, however it went.

One worry off the table did not negate the rest, of course. Still, Prowl tried to keep his thoughts on that. If he just focused on that, he could get through this. He wasn’t doing anything illegal or detrimental, just unsavory. And necessary.

Taking one last moment to compose himself, Prowl paused on the steps outside the gallery before opening the door and walking inside.

“Hello and welcome!” a friendly voice greeted him right away. “Have you come to look around, or is there something in particular I can help you with today?”

Prowl turned to regard the well-polished red mech coming around the reception desk. “Hello,” he said simply. “My name is Prowl. I came to inquire about a piece that was recently put up for sale. Are you Sideswipe?” Prowl was pretty sure he was; the mech fit Barricade’s description too well to be anyone else.

“I am,” came the expected confirmation. “We’ve just put up several new pieces for sale. Can you tell me which one you’re interested in?”

“A suit of armor,” Prowl replied. “I was hoping I might take a look at it, and, perhaps, discuss making a purchase.”

“Ah! I like the sound of that.” Sideswipe smiled and started walking toward the left entry into the gallery proper. Prowl followed. “I doubt you’ll be disappointed — the advertisement doesn’t do it justice at all.”

The armor was on display in the first room, hung on a plain stand that let the formal regalia speak for itself. To Prowl’s uneducated optic it looked quite grand. The enamel on the finely hammered plates was unchipped and polished to a smooth luster; not a mirror finish, but it glowed with a burnished sheen. There were glyphs worked into the decorative borders, stylized prayers for protection and victory that hadn’t been visible either in the ad or from across the room. Prowl was only able to see them, and several other small but deft artistic embellishments, when he got right up to it.

A crest of House Olenidae was emblazoned on the chestplate, though Prowl wouldn’t have recognized it without his brother telling him which house it belonged to beforehand. He could have guessed the armor had only ever been used for ceremonial purposes however, even without Barricade saying so. It was too delicate to truly add much in the way of actual protection to the wearer, and some of the armor plates looked as though they would have hindered mobility. Not the smartest thing to wear in a real fight. But then, the noble heir it had belonged to hadn’t needed to defeat his enemies on the field of battle. Lord Hypostome had bested his opponents in the theater of politics, not combat.

Barricade had given Prowl a few notes about the armor, ostensibly as a gesture of goodwill. When they’d gone over them together, Prowl suspected his brother’s real motivation had been to impress upon him how remarkable the armor’s history was, and give him an excuse to gloat over adding it to his collection. It was the sort of one-sided conversation Prowl didn’t usually pay much attention to, but this time he had listened carefully.

“It has been restored, yes?” he asked, bringing up one of the things Barricade had lingered over in their discussion. “You repaired or replaced some of the panels?”

“Not me, no. That was all Sunstreaker. He’s the real artist of the two of us.” Sideswipe walked around to the other side of the stand, indicating some of the panels. “See here? These are original to the piece, completely untouched. But this one right here’s had a few touch ups, and the one below it was so badly deteriorated that there was no way to recover it. Sunstreaker created an entirely new panel and matched it perfectly to the existing ones.”

Prowl came over to inspect it more closely, though it didn’t make a difference. All the panels looked exactly the same to him. “He is quite gifted,” he said, figuring flattery could hardly go amiss. “I might never have spotted it if you had not shown me.”

“He’ll be pleased to hear that. He takes a lot of pride in his work.” There was pride in Sideswipe’s voice too. Clearly he and his brother had a much better relationship than Prowl had with his own.

That thought had Prowl feeling awkward all over again. He tried to ignore it and keep his discomfort from being noticeable. “The crest has been authenticated, I trust?”

“Naturally. It came to us already verified, and the certificate is included in the sale.” Sideswipe cocked his helm inquiringly. “Is that something you’re interested in?”

“It is,” Prowl nodded. “I was already fairly certain when I read about it, and am now entirely convinced that it is what I was looking for.”

“Wonderful! Let’s head back to the office and see if we can come up with a satisfying arrangement.”

The office was through the door behind the reception desk. Sideswipe turned a sign on the counter around to indicate anyone requiring assistance should ring for him, then held the door open for Prowl.

“You haven’t purchased from us before,” Sideswipe said once they were settled in the professional but comfortably decorated room. “I would remember if you had. That means there are a couple of credit checks we’ll need to run first. Is that alright?”

“Is it necessary?” Prowl couldn’t see what was on the computer terminal’s screen from his side of the desk; he hoped Sideswipe wasn’t running a background and preliminary check already! If he didn’t already know who he was related to, that was one of the first things such a search would reveal. “It was my intention to make payment in full.”

Sideswipe let out a low whistle. “In full, you say?”

“Yes. I have the funds available and would prefer to avoid any additional financing costs.” Prowl smiled, though it felt a bit stiff. “You deserve a fair price, of course, but perhaps that could be taken into account?”

“It might factor into the asking price,” Sideswipe said mercurially. Prowl couldn’t tell if he was being serious or just playing the game — and playing it a great deal better than Prowl. This mech knew what he was doing, and Prowl found himself suddenly revising his chances. “There are a lot of things to consider, after all: the history, the certificate, the restorations…”

“The restorations were expertly done, but they do mean the piece is not entirely in its original condition.”

“Naturally, though the importance of presentable condition versus historical integrity depends on the buyer.” Did he really  _ have  _ to use the word integrity? “So? Which is more important to you?”

The question caught Prowl off guard. He was unable to answer immediately as he tried to come up with the right answer. If he were speaking for himself, he would chose the latter; not only because he preferred truth to a facade, but because he felt that the restoration, as beautiful as it was, took more away than it added back to the piece. But this wasn’t for him, and Barricade liked things that were showy and impressive. He might rather have the former.

“Or is this not for you?” Sideswipe asked, misinterpreting Prowl’s silence. “Are you acting as an intermediary?”

_ No.  _ It was a simple answer to a simple question, but Prowl couldn’t get it out around the weight of the lie. It lay heavy on his tongue, unwilling to go past his lips. He struggled, reminding himself why he was doing this in the first place, that it didn’t really cost him anything to—

“Prowl? Is something wrong?”

“Yes. No. Yes! I mean, no, nothing is wrong and yes, I am here on behalf of someone else.” Suddenly he wasn’t able to  _ stop  _ the words, the  _ wrong  _ words, from flying out of his mouth. Prowl wanted to turn and knock his head against the wall. Why,  _ why _ had he said that? He had to lock his wing joints to keep his doors from sagging dispiritedly. He knew exactly what Sideswipe’s next question was going to be.

“Oh! Well then, who is it for?”

And there it was — exactly the question Prowl had hoped to avoid at all costs. He felt like his processor was going to overclock, racing to come up with an acceptable answer. “My client…” He stopped and reset his vocalizer, both to clear the hint of static he could hear in his voice and to buy him a few more precious seconds. “My client does not wish to be named.”

“He doesn’t, huh?” Sideswipe glanced down at his monitor, then back at Prowl. “Are you  _ sure  _ you can’t tell me?”

Prowl shook his helm, desperation making him unwilling to admit defeat even when he was positive Sideswipe had guessed the truth. “No,” he said, forcing his voice and posture to remain calm and steady. “My client would prefer to remain anonymous.”

For one painfully long minute, Sideswipe just sat back in his chair, looking at Prowl speculatively. His optics seemed to be assessing him, seeing straight through him and what he was doing with no difficulty whatsoever. Prowl held himself rigid under that intense gaze, alternatively cursing and praying for him to pleaseplease _please_ just say something and put an end to this! The charade was over; there was no point in pretending he was going to sell him the armor now.

“If that’s really the case,” Sideswipe said at last, sliding forward to fold his arms on the desk in front of him, “I can deal with that.” A wide smile spread across his face. “For a fee.”

What?

“What?” Prowl blurted out before quickly pulling himself back together from his shock. He  _ was  _ still going to sell it to him? “That is, what would the fee be?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll let you know as soon as we’ve finished hammering out the rest of the details.”

***

As soon as he stepped off the elevator, Prowl walked straight to Barricade’s office. He ignored the secretary’s protests and pushed open the door, letting it fall shut behind him as he stalked across the room to set a datapad down rather forcefully in front of the one his brother had just looked up from.

“Here.”

“Nice to see you too,” Barricade said without moving to take it. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“This is not pleasure, it is business.” Prowl stepped away from the desk, door wings drawn back tightly behind his shoulders and raised high with only partially suppressed annoyance. “I have done what you asked. That is the receipt of purchase and delivery date for the suit of armor. Do you have the crystal to exchange for it?”

The confusion on Barricade’s face gave way to amusement. “You actually went through with it? And succeeded?” Picking up the datapad Prowl had so unceremoniously dropped on his desk, Barricade checked what was on it. His optics flared in surprise as what he saw confirmed Prowl’s words. “This is the real deal. I’m impressed… except for the final price. I thought I told you to make it a good deal.”

“It is,” Prowl said sharply, allowing the fear and humiliation he’d been pushing back earlier to express itself in the form of anger with his brother. “Sideswipe is an experienced salesmech and auctioneer. He knew the value of the piece he had and was very difficult to argue down at all. Which, if you care to note,” he pointed at a set of figures on the display, “I  _ did.  _ He reduced the shipping surcharges for large items in consideration of full payment upon delivery, and marked down certain restoration costs for having compromised the historical authenticity of the piece.”

“Full payment upon delivery? I said I would give you the money for it, but that’s a bit much to presume that you’ll have it all at once.”

“You laid emphasis on getting a good price. I leveraged what I had to work with, which included the possibility, since you did not  _ exclude  _ it, of paying in full.” Prowl’s already stern expression hardened further. “We had an agreement, Barricade, and I am not interested in listening to your attempts to talk your way out of it now that I have upheld my end of the bargain. Give me the crystal, or I will call the gallery and invoke the cancellation clause in the bill of sale. You will get nothing.”

“My, you’re in a foul temper,” Barricade said, still perfectly calm himself. “Did something happen to put you on edge?”

It never paid to be uncivil with Barricade, but Prowl had told enough lies already for one day. “You happened,” he answered honestly, feeling some satisfaction at the shock on his brother’s face. “You set every last one of my teeth on edge.” Prowl held out his hand expectantly. “Crystal or receipt. Your choice. You have one minute.”

Prowl half expected Barricade to say ‘neither’ and continue to force the issue. Instead, he watched as Barricade reached over to one of the desk drawers and opened it to take out the crystal crest ornament. “As promised,” he said simply and laid it in Prowl’s upturned palm, for once not conniving or arguing at all. Prowl wasn’t sure if Barricade was too surprised by how aggressive Prowl was being, or if he’d decided he’d already gotten enough amusement out of this particular venture. “One damaged antique piece of jewelry in exchange for one restored antique suit of armor.”

“Thank you,” Prowl said primly, looking over the piece carefully to be sure it was the same as when he’d chosen it. He even hummed lightly to hear the crystal sing back to make sure it hadn’t been swapped out for a facsimile. Barricade gave him a bit of an odd look for that, but Prowl didn’t care if he offended him by implying he had concerns about the crystal not being genuine. It wasn’t like those concerns were unfounded.

Satisfied that at least this time Barricade had dealt with him honestly, Prowl put the crystal in his subspace and turned to go.

“Prowl?” Barricade called after him.

“Yes? I thought we were done.”

“Good luck.”

He hadn’t turned back, but Prowl could imagine the sly grin on his brother’s face perfectly well without needing to see it. Bobbing his door wings in curt acknowledgement, he continued walking until he was out of the room and back in the elevator. 

It was only once the doors closed and he felt the car descending that the tension that had been building since he’d struck the bargain last night broke. He was grateful Barricade’s office was in a tall building. He needed the ride past the rest of the floors to stop shaking.

***

“Prowl! You’re back!”

The happy exclamation hit Prowl’s audials before he’d gotten halfway through the crack in the hedge. He smiled, even though there was no way Jazz could see it. “How did you know it was me?”

“Only you and Smokescreen know this place is here,” Jazz answered, waving from his window as Prowl came into view, “and you sound different.”

“What if you had been wrong?”

“Me, wrong about sound? Get out of town!” Jazz laughed for a second, then deflated a bit. “Besides, it’s not like anyone else would have heard my mistake. Even Smokescreen.”

Prowl winced internally, suddenly sorry he’d brought it up. Though perhaps it was well timed, in a way. “Speaking of that,” he began as he came up to the window, “I wanted you to be the first to hear that I did manage to acquire a piece of crystal. I know the statues did not help anyone to see or hear you, but it let you see and hear more than you can from here. Do you want see if the same is possible with this?” He brought out the crystal and held it up to show Jazz

The startled cry the ghost let out made the ornament vibrate in his hand. “Jazz, I felt that! Did you—”

“Bring it inside! Please!”

The note of desperation in Jazz’s voice cut off any further questions Prowl might have had. He’d barely gotten two steps inside the chapel when Jazz called out, “Stop! Don’t move, just… please just stand there for a minute?”

Prowl looked down and saw Jazz standing in front of his reflection in the floor exactly as if he were standing in front of him for real. Looking forward Prowl couldn’t see anything, but in the mirrored surface he and Jazz stood face to face, the crystal held out between them. Jazz laid a hand over it, overlapping Prowl’s hand as he stared at it in pained recognition.

“It was his.” Prowl felt the truth of it down to his spark without needing to ask it as a question. “This belonged to Prowl.”

Jazz just nodded, beyond words. His reflection wobbled in the floor; the walls sounded like they were crying.

Prowl stood still and silent, letting him take as long as he needed while he tried to wrap his processor around this new  _ massively unlikely  _ coincidence. For Barricade to have had this piece, and for him to have chosen it… to feel drawn to it… Once again his probability calculations choked on the enormously small odds. Then, unable to help it, he started to chuckle. Softly at first, then louder, until he was laughing fully out loud.

“What’s the matter with you?” Jazz asked with a brittle edge. He wasn’t standing on the underside of the floor facing Prowl’s reflection anymore instead, he was lying as though he were just beneath the surface of it looking up at his real face. “How can you possibly think anything about this is funny?”

“My apologies,” Prowl said quickly, truly sorry for offending Jazz. “But Barricade would  _ never  _ have traded this to me on any terms, nor sold it for any sum, if he had known that it was Rhadamanthian.” Prowl worked to reign in his laughter, though the poleaxed expression he imagined on his brother’s face continued to fuel a few more stray chuckles.

“Meaning he’d be mortified to find out how little he let it go for?” Jazz asked, somewhat mollified. “I guess that is kind of funny.”

“Considering how little the favor he wanted truly cost me in the end, beyond the stress of going through with it? Very.” Prowl looked at the well-worn solder marks on the back of the setting. “It must have lost any identifying marks with the backing a long time ago.”

“There never were any.” Jazz let out a long sigh, the musical echoes chasing away the last discordant notes of his indignation. “Unless you count the artisan’s signature, which didn’t do anything to identify it as belonging to the house. It was  _ his,  _ made just for him and not passed down through the family. I’m a little surprised they didn’t destroy it.”

“I am glad that they did not.” Prowl walked up to the window and held the crystal up to it. Jazz was beside it in an instant, once again reaching for it but only able to touch its reflection. It blended perfectly with the crystal of the chapel, even seeming to respond to Jazz’s phantom touch with patterns to match the shifting colors in the window. “This came from the garden too then?”

“It… did, in a way,” Jazz confirmed haltingly. “Technically… it came from me.” He turned to look at Prowl. “I gave him that, when we were walking together once. I was pruning the crystal and sweeping up the discards and he asked if he could have a piece. They were junk, I told him. Not worth anything. But he always saw value in things that no one else did.” Jazz traced the edges of the crystal wistfully with his thumb. “So I gave him this.”

“And he turned it into an ornament.” Prowl’s fingers followed the same path as Jazz’s around the edge of the crystal. “He had it made into something he could keep and display for all to see. Jazz, you and he…” Prowl let the sentence trail off, unsure if finishing it would be welcome.

“He and I… what?”

“…You loved each other.”

Jazz’s visor glowed over-bright. “We did,” he whispered, his lips quivering around a beautiful, tragic smile. “It was wrong of us, and we shouldn’t have, but we did.” Now it was his turn to laugh, a harsh, broken sound. “Look where it got us both.”

“You were victims of an unfair and inflexible system, and both of you suffered far more than you deserved because of it.” Perhaps Prowl wasn’t the right one to say it, but Jazz needed to hear it from  _ someone.  _ “What you felt for each other was not  _ wrong _ .” 

“Wasn’t it?” Jazz asked, so quietly that Prowl could barely hear him.

“No.” Prowl touched his free hand to the reflection of Jazz’s trailing fingers; their approximation of holding hands. “It was not.” He wished desperately there was something he could do, some way to lessen the pain Jazz was in. “I cannot fix the past,” he said sadly, immense regret welling up in his spark, “however much I wish I could. But please. Let me do whatever I can to help you now.”

“You don’t owe me anything.”

“I  _ want  _ to help you,” Prowl shushed him. “I do not consider you an obligation.”

“Heh. Well that’s a relief.” Jazz’s smile solidified a little. “So does that mean I don’t need to worry what you went through to get that crystal? Because Smokescreen seemed pretty sure your brother would make you pay for it, even if it wasn’t in money.”

“He attempted to embarrass me. Or rather, he set me up to embarrass myself.” The shift in tone and topic was rather abrupt, but Prowl followed Jazz’s cue and backed off. He hadn’t expected the crystal would trigger such an emotional discussion either, and was glad to give the subject some distance for himself as much as Jazz. “I succeeded at that beautifully, though somehow I also managed to also succeed at the task at hand in spite of it. And yes, before you ask, it did require a small concession on the part of my conscience,” Prowl admitted. “But in this one instance I feel I can say the end outweighed the means.”

“You have no idea what it means to see it again,” Jazz said, though Prowl felt the minute ultrasonic vibrations emanating from the entire chapel and buzzing along his door wings were as good an indicator as the ghost’s absent EM field of his emotional state. “But I’d still feel awful if you had to do something terrible to get it.”

“Then let me assure you again, I did not. It was uncomfortable and unpleasant, but nothing I cannot live with.” All of which was true. It had been miserable at the time, and Prowl knew he would be fighting the occasional guilt trip over it for some time to come, but… “It was worth it to be able to restore this to you.”

“If you’re sure. Though I can’t exactly hold it myself, can I?”

“It is still yours. I am merely its custodian — I will carry it for you if it works as we hoped, and if it does not, it will remain here with you.”

“Prowl…” Jazz’s joking smile softened. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” 

The quiet moment stretched out between them until Prowl began to feel slightly awkward. He was just trying to come up with a way to break the silence when Jazz saved him the trouble by speaking first. “So? We have the crystal now. When are you going to introduce me to Wheeljack? I’d like him here to ask questions if I have to do something different to make this work.”

“I do have to admit to having a great deal more confidence in him after our last meeting.” Wheeljack had proven capable and considerate as well as passionate with the dog-walker, in addition to being organized (if excessive) with his questions for Prowl afterward. Prior to all that, Prowl had been struggling with the sense that the mech’s skills weren’t quite on par with his enthusiasm. 

“Then why haven’t you called him already?” Jazz’s excitement restored the color in the chapel as it grew. “Hurry up and do it now!”

“In a minute! I promised Smokescreen he could be here too.”

“So call your nosy cousin,  _ then  _ call Wheeljack!”

Smiling indulgently, Prowl turned off the auto-reply message and dialed Smokescreen’s number.

::Hi, you have reached Smokescreen’s voicemail. Sorry he can’t answer your call, but you wouldn’t answer his and payback’s a—::

::Smokescreen.:: The rest of that sentence was not something Prowl needed to hear. He must have made a face, because Jazz looked like he was about to ask something. Prowl held up his hand to forestall him peppering him with questions. ::I am sorry, but I did ask you to stop calling so often until I passed my exam. I said I would get in touch as soon as I could. There was nothing I could tell you until I heard from Barricade anyway.::

::Yeah? So have you finally?:: Smokescreen still sounded a bit cross, but his curiosity was clearly winning out as usual. ::What’d he asked you to do?::

::It is already done. I can give you the details later, but I have the crystal and that is what is important. I was about to get in touch with Wheeljack. Jazz would like to meet him, and I know you wanted to as well.::

::Way ahead of you there, actually.:: Now Smokescreen sounded smug. ::I tracked him down myself a couple days ago. Don’t worry! I didn’t tell him where Jazz is, cross my spark!:: he added in a rush. ::We’ve just been talking about what I can see when I’m around him and stuff like that. He thinks he can — hang on a sec.::

Prowl waited, but when the line had been quiet for a full minute asked, ::Smokescreen? If this is a bad time, I can call back later.::

::What was that? Oh, no, it’s not a bad time at all, sorry. Wheeljack just wanted to know what you were calling about.::

::Wheeljack? You are with him now?::

“Hey,” Jazz interrupted, done waiting for Prowl to finish. “What’s going on?”

::Yeah, we’re parked a couple blocks from the library — total coincidence, I swear! Anyway, he’s almost got a working prototype, if you’re interested in seeing it.::

::A working prototype of what?::

::Of his newest invention! He’s thinking of calling it the Wheeljack—::

“Don’t ignore me, please don’t ignore me!”

::Tell you what,:: Prowl cut Smokescreen off at Jazz’s not-quite-begging tone. ::Bring Wheeljack and explain it when you get here. Jazz and I are waiting.:: He ended the call and switched his focus to his surroundings. “I could never ignore you,” he reassured the anxious ghost. “Smokescreen was with Wheeljack; they will both be here soon.”

“Does that mean you don’t need to make another call?” Jazz’s fingers were twitching against the crystal glass beneath Prowl’s hand restlessly, almost pawing at it. He sounded so hopeful that even if Prowl had needed to call Wheeljack, he would have been hesitant to do it.

“No more calls.” They would still have to wait a little while though. “Would you like to hear how our last meeting with him went in he meantime?”

“Absolutely!”

The timing worked out perfectly. Prowl had just finished telling Jazz all about the ghost scraplet when they heard the telltale sounds of someone climbing through the hedge.

“Smokescreen,” Jazz said confidently when Prowl tensed. “And someone else.” They both went over to the entrance of the chapel, Jazz waiting in the window while Prowl walked outside to greet their guests. 

Smokescreen emerged first into the small clearing in front of the chapel between it and the purple walls of the hedge. “Hi Prowl. Hi Jazz,” he said, even though he couldn’t see the ghost. “You are going to  _ love _ what we’ve been working on!”

“What ‘we’ve’ been working on? I did not realize you had taken up engineering.”

“Oh, he’s got a long way to go before he’d be a very good engineer,” came Wheeljack’s voice from inside the hedge, “but he’s got a good head on his shoulders for coming up with ideas and a knack for asking the right questions!”

“In other words, I make a good sounding board,” Smokescreen paraphrased.

“I see.” Prowl met Wheeljack’s optics as he joined them in the clearing, surprisingly empty-handed. “Did you not bring any of your equipment with you?” 

“Safely tucked away, don’t you worry. I just wanted to observe using my own senses first, and  _ wow!  _ Is this ever something to observe!” His voice and helm fins both readily telegraphed his awe. “I thought you were being paranoid, keeping so many secrets, but I can see why now. It’d be a real shame if something happened to this place!”

“Or its occupant.” Prowl gestured to the window. “Wheeljack, I would like to introduce you to Jazz.”

“Nice to meet you!” Jazz said brightly. He was leaning against the frame by the missing pane, trying to appear nonchalant, but Prowl could tell he was nervously hoping that Wheeljack would hear him.

“It’s a pleasure!” Wheeljack said with equal enthusiasm, though just like Smokescreen, his optics weren’t quite looking in the right spot. Prowl heard a soft disappointed sigh as Jazz shifted automatically into his line of (not) sight. “Smokescreen told me you don’t like Prowl being the only one who can see and hear you, right?”

“Well, yeah. Don’t get me wrong, I’m incredibly grateful you can,” he said quickly to Prowl. “Whatever miracle or magic that is, I don’t ever want it to stop, but I’m  _ tired  _ of being invisible and not being able to talk to anyone.”

“It frustrates him, not being able to talk without me acting as a translator.” Prowl didn’t mind the role, but it did slow down conversation. It also didn’t solve the problem of Jazz wanting recognition that he existed.

“That’s one of the things I was working on!” Wheeljack went for his subspace. “Hang on, where did I put it? Don’t tell me I left it behind!”

“No, you told me to hold it.” Smokescreen reached into  _ his  _ subspace and pulled out an unfamiliar boxy device. It looked somewhat like the Ghost Detector, but it had a different antenna and array of knobs and dials. “Here you go.”

“Ah! Perfect!” Wheeljack switched it on with a whine of feedback. He fussed with it until the noise was gone, then pointed it at Jazz. “Say something.”

“…Hi, I’m a ghost?” Jazz said uncertainly. “Fear me.”

“HI I AM A GHOST. FEAR ME.”

“Bwahaha!” Smokescreen burst out laughing. “Is that really what he said?”

Prowl looked over at Jazz, who was staring open-mouthed in shock at Wheeljack. “It is,” he told Smokescreen. “Though it sounds nothing like him.”

“Of course not. The original Wheeljack Ghost Translator™ only has a very basic vocal synthesizer,” Wheeljack said with a shrug, though his helm fins were flickering like mad. “I was tinkering with a new and improved model when Smokescreen gave me an even better idea!”

“WHAT COULD POSSIBLY BE BETTER THAN THAT. IT LETS YOU HEAR ME.”

“Ah! Wait and see! Here, hold this for a sec.” Wheeljack thrust the Ghost Translator back at Smokescreen, who fumbled for it as the inventor resumed rummaging in his subspace. 

“He’s got the coolest stuff,” Smokescreen said to Prowl. “Besides letting me try the Ghost Translator, he let me drive the Ghost RV,  _ and _ try firing the Ghost Grappler! Then he showed me how the Ghost Deflector worked — really cool by the way, though it was kind of freaky because we had to let the scraplet out to do it.”

They had let it out on purpose? Prowl was glad to have missed that. “I assume you were wearing the Ghost Goggles too, in order to see the scraplet?”

“At first, yeah, but they didn’t fit me very well,” Smokescreen said with a shrug. “I had an easier time tracking it with the Ghost Detector in the end. It moved so fast! But Wheeljack still managed to hit it with the Anti-Ghost Whacker so we could recapture it with the Ghost Dispenser.”

“GEEZ.” Jazz broke into the conversation, the flat synthesizer failing to capture the flabbergasted inflection that Prowl heard in his real voice. “HOW MANY GHOST GADGETS DO YOU HAVE.”

“Counting this one? If it works, that is.” Wheeljack walked over holding something that resembled nothing so much as a tangled nest of exposed wires and bare conduits wrapped around a crystal core. “Time to find out if the Wheeljack Ghost Augmentor™ is worthy of the name.”

“NOT WITH THAT CRYSTAL.”

Prowl held out the crest ornament, offering it as a replacement. “Only the rainbow crystal works as a channel for Jazz,” he explained, leaving out the personal connection for the time being. Smokescreen might be interested later, but for now, Prowl kept to himself his private hope that his emotional ties to the crystal would help Jazz succeed. “May we try using this?”

“Oh, wow,” Smokescreen breathed. “That’s gorgeous!”

“It certainly is! That’s quite a find there,” Wheeljack agreed, already disengaging the core to swap the two out. “Don’t worry, I’ll give it back. If this works, I might just leave the whole thing with you! As long as you let me continue observing, that is.”

“If Jazz does not mind,” Prowl hedged, turning to look back over his shoulder. “Jazz? Would that—”

“HMMM **MMMM*crack*ksssshhkt*POP*!!** ”

The Ghost Translator tried and gave out in its attempts to render Jazz’s song as the sound became too powerful. Smokescreen’s door wings immediately dropped back protectively and Wheeljack threw his arms up in what looked like a well-practiced defensive reflex as the chapel lit up in front of them. The rainbow colors came alive, scintillating and brilliant as they moved together with the music in a show of color and light.

Prowl simply spread his sensor panels wide and basked in it. He could hear Jazz’s glorious tenor intertwined with the cadences of the crystal, and there was such hope and joy in it. The only way it could have been more beautiful would have been to experience the music as he had the first time, standing enclosed by it inside the chapel instead of outside its glittering walls. 

The device in Wheeljack’s hands started to glow as the sound increased, giving him an odd haloed appearance where he held it over his head. He was staring up at it in amazement, helm fins their own minor riot of color as he babbled ecstatically, inaudible over the crystal chorus. Prowl caught sight of Smokescreen backing away even further out of the corner of his optic; he still wasn’t as comfortable as Prowl with Jazz’s showier displays. 

Prowl watched the Augmentor continue to get brighter as the song soared higher until it reached its peak. The crystal crest ornament flashed with blinding brilliance, temporarily whiting out his vision alongside the triumphant final chord that inundated his audials.

He wasn’t sure which faded first, the light or the sound. He wasn’t sure how long it took, either. All he knew was that when he was able to see, hear, and  _ think  _ again, Jazz was standing there with them. At first it didn’t seem strange — Jazz always appeared after a song of that magnitude — but then he realized what was different.

Jazz was standing  _ outside  _ the chapel, and he looked completely and utterly stunned.

“Primus on a pogo stick! It worked!” Wheeljack crowed, leaping into the air with a whoop of glee. “It actually worked!”

“Wow… That’s what you look like?” The timid question from Smokescreen was directed at Jazz — really  _ at  _ him, optic contact and everything. “Don’t let Barricade see you, you look like a walking antique.”

“I look like… you mean… you can see me?” Jazz asked, equally timid at first. “Can you really?”

“You bet we can! All thanks to this!” Wheeljack bounced over, holding the Ghost Augmentor out in front of him proudly. It was still humming with energy, the charged crystal resonating evenly. “I combined the upgraded voice module for the Translator with an inverted version of the technology in the Goggles as a projector to create Cybertron’s very first ghost-powered hologram!”

“That’s fabulous, really, it is, but I care soooo little about how it works right now!” Jazz was shaking with excitement, only this time his distraction didn’t cause his image to begin fading. Even when his feet lifted off the ground and stayed there as he started floating, he remained opaque. “I can hardly believe it! It’s too good to be true!”

“Come then,” Prowl said, reaching out to him. “Come and prove it to yourself.”

“That’s a great idea! I can get some readings and measurements of how — hey!”

“What he  _ means  _ to say,” Smokescreen said, having recovered enough to snag the Augmentor from Wheeljack and hand it to Prowl, “is go right ahead.” He gave Jazz an encouraging smile and a big thumbs-up. “You can do it.”

“Can I?” Jazz looked at Prowl, his visor incandescent with a storm of emotions. Prowl could see the fear lurking beneath the joy, the terror that this happiness would disintegrate if he looked at it too closely. He’d been trapped in the chapel for so long; how could he trust that this freedom was real?

“Yes.” Prowl moved in close enough to once again brush their fingertips together. There was no sensation of pressure, only a faint tingling where they made contact, but it made both of them smile. “You can.”

“Come with me?” Jazz pleaded.

“Of course.” Prowl gestured toward the opening in the hedge and the path leading out to the rest of the world. “After you.”

Jazz could have flown through the hedge rather than following the twists and turns through the crystal, but he didn’t. Prowl saw parts of his frame slide through small protruding pieces of the passage as he followed along behind him anyway, but he didn’t mention it. No longer floating, Jazz was doing his best to mimic walking normally, as he’d often done along the filigree tightropes between window panes. It made his progress slow enough for Prowl to keep up, even hindered by the Augmentor in his hand.

The journey through the hedge had never felt longer than it did now, but finally they reached the end. Prowl watched as a weight lifted from Jazz with those first steps outside, and it made his own spark soar.

“Over here,” he said, leading them around the side of the massive walls back to the path. “The library is this way.”

“It’ll be my first time seeing it in… wow, I’m not even sure exactly.” Jazz followed Prowl this time, walking slowly as he craned his helm in every direction trying to take it all in at once. He kept turning in circles, looking at everything around and even above them. “I can’t remember when I last saw the sky.” Prowl had to resist the urge to reach out and try to enfold him in a comforting embrace. He couldn’t think of a single mech in the world who could use a hug as much as Jazz.

Then — “Hey mech, do you know which way leads back to the library? I’ve gotten myself all turned around.”

Prowl watched Jazz freeze at the question. Another mech had just turned a corner and come up beside him. Prowl was on Jazz’s opposite side; there was no doubt which of them the newcomer was asking for directions.

Jazz asked anyway. “You talking to me?”

“Unless you don’t know either,” the mech replied. “Nice armor, by the way. Where are you from?”

A choked sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob was all Jazz could manage. Prowl stepped in as he was overwhelmed by the reality of what was happening. “The library is that way,” he told the mech, pointing down the correct path. “And my friend is visiting from Polyhex.”

“Great,” the mech thanked him. “Polyhex, huh? Well, welcome to Praxus. Enjoy the city.”

“Thank you!” Jazz called after him as he walked away. “Thank you.” His voice was thick, visor trailing wavering ribbons of light as he turned to look at Prowl. “ _Thank you._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so the prince (who doesn't realize he _is_ a prince), rescues the damsel (who is _no_ such thing) from his isolation. This story is over... but _their_ story will continue! *holds out internet cookies* Some people guessed there might be more to this than would fit in the nine chapters I had scheduled for the challenge (did anyone spot the other nine?), and they were right. So it goes when a plotbunny mutates on its author and grows to unexpected proportions... Since this story is complete, I hope no one minds that means a sequel XD
> 
> Thank you to everyone who read along - I loved all of your comments (and if you're reading this in the future, future-Rizo will love your comments too)! You've made this story even more fun for me, and I'm looking forward to part 2. The next couple months will be busy ones for me so I don't want to promise anything I can't commit to, but my goal is for it to happen this year. Hope to see you there! <3
> 
> _~ fin/TBC ~_
> 
> Edited to add: on top of the sequel obviously being done at this point, there is also absolutely beautiful [fanart](https://alotofspiders.tumblr.com/post/170417826139/tfilf-day-1-picture-about-crystal-ghosts-by) for this story by alotofspiders on tumblr. Thank you so, so much, I squee over it every time I look at it <3 Check it out!


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